The Husbands Of Felicity Smoak
by Small-Wonders
Summary: When Oliver Queen dies to protect his sister, Felicity Smoak becomes a widow at the tender age of twenty-seven. She doesn't expect she'll ever get married again, but Tommy Merlyn has always been someone who defies her expectations. For four months, her marriage to him gives her a joy she'd never thought she'd experience again. …and then her first husband comes back from the dead.
1. Part One: Chapter One

**A/N:** This fic has a bit of a slow build, but stay with me. We'll get there. Huge thanks to Abbie, storiesofimagination, and ohemgeeitscoley for the cheerleading and hand holding and the screaming at me in capslock. You guys make this so much fun.

* * *

Felicity should perhaps find it strange that the main similarity between the first time she meets Oliver Queen and the first time she meets Tommy Merlyn is that they're both bleeding to death at the time. She knows them before each incident, of course. Oliver is a perplexing distraction in her office every few weeks. Tommy is a constant presence around Verdant, but since he mostly stays upstairs while Felicity mostly stays downstairs, the crossing of their paths is usually accompanied by a polite smile and a nod.

Even so, Felicity may have met "Oliver Queen" when he strolled into her office with a banged-up laptop, but she first met _Oliver_ when he pulled off a green hood in her backseat and asked for her help. Her brain has always made the distinction. Oliver Queen wanted a favor. Oliver needed her help.

In the same way, Felicity doesn't quite consider the occasional passing smile at Tommy Merlyn any sort of official introduction. They knew _of_ each other, but they were always headed in different directions, pulled away by conflicting distractions.

Except now.

Now, he's just another man suffering from extreme blood loss in her backseat while she attempts to navigate her mini cooper through the war zone that Starling City has become in the wake of the earthquake machine she couldn't stop.

Oliver Queen is squashed in her backseat; his best friend is next to him with a six-inch piece of rebar that has pierced right through his shoulder. Felicity isn't sure if he's still conscious. All she can hear is Oliver pleading with Tommy to stay with them.

Eventually, it becomes the mantra echoing in her head too. _Stay with me. Stay with me, Tommy._

There's a green leather suit in her trunk from when Oliver hastily changed clothes and balled up wipes smeared with greenish-black paint all over the floor in the backseat. Felicity has blood caked under her nails and dripping down a slowly bleeding gash on her forearm.

When they get to the hospital, Tommy is rushed into surgery while Felicity and Oliver are stuck in the main body of the ER getting patched up. Felicity only needs a few stitches on her arm, but she stays by Oliver's side while the wound in his shoulder is treated.

After that, they're sent off to a waiting room. She sits; he paces. Felicity, at least, has her tablet and the ability to keep a constant eye on the news sources.

It's pretty bleak, even just looking at the low estimates for casualties. The city may never be the same again.

Laurel comes running in with tears streaming down her face. Oliver stops his pacing long enough to grab her in a hug it takes her a few moments to accept. Over Laurel's shoulder, Felicity can see the distress on Oliver's face, the unspoken guilt.

He blames himself for this. Of course he does. He blames himself for _everything_. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out.

The problem is Felicity can't quite stop blaming _herself_. She should have figured out there was another device. If she had, they wouldn't be here. Her backseat wouldn't be covered in blood.

For hours, they wait. She brings Oliver and Laurel coffee and muffins, but beyond that, there's nothing to do but let time pass. It goes by slowly, with little in the way of distractions offered to them.

Even when Oliver finally sits next to her and tells her that no one expects her to stay, that she can go home, she refuses. She doesn't know Tommy all that well, but she knows that he just lost his father and his mother has been gone since he was little. She knows he has no siblings. She knows that he and Laurel recently broke up. She knows that he's been a dear friend to Oliver.

She knows he deserves people sitting in a waiting room for him.

And then there's Oliver, distraught, pacing, carrying a world's worth of guilt on his shoulders. He's her friend, and even if her support is bland muffins and horrible coffee and just being _there_ , she's going to give it. He deserves nothing less.

At some point, she does fall asleep. Her head falls so it rests on Oliver's shoulder, and she dreams of the foundry collapsing on top of her and burying her in rubble.

She wakes up gasping, but doesn't tell Oliver about it. He rubs her shoulder a little and tells her Tommy's out of surgery and resting comfortably. Dig, Thea Queen, and Thea's boyfriend, Roy, have shown up during her nap. Felicity gets a quick hug from Diggle before following the rest of the group out of the waiting room.

The six of them step into Tommy's room right as the sun is rising. There's still not much to do and there aren't many chairs. After a few moments of being able to reassure herself that the very pretty man did not, in fact, die in her backseat, Felicity excuses herself. Oliver follows her to the elevator.

"Thank you for staying," he says as she pushes the down button.

"My—well, not really my pleasure, but… you know." None of the typical responses to 'thank you' feel appropriate in this situation, so she stops trying to find one. "I'm glad he's okay."

And then, because she's on essentially no sleep at all, she puts her hand on Oliver's arm and says, "I'm glad you're okay."

He's not, at least not completely. But something about seeing Tommy alive and hearing the heart monitor beeping and watching his chest rise and fall with each breath appears to have calmed him down. Worry isn't evident in the way he stands anymore. She can't see deep concern in his eyes. Just exhaustion.

They have to talk about what their next steps are, what they're going to do with the foundry destroyed, where they're going to go, but that's a conversation for later.

For now, Felicity pushes up on her toes and pulls Oliver into a hug. She's not one hundred percent sure he's even the hugging type, but she needs it, and she suspects he does too.

It's the crossing of a previously established physical boundary in their relationship, but Oliver doesn't seem to notice, sinking into her arms like he belongs there.

And maybe, in a way, he does.

The elevator doors open, and Felicity steps inside. She gives Oliver a little wave and says, "See you tomorrow."

Which is wrong. She doesn't see him the next day, or the day after, or the day after that, because while he's in Starling for a week after the Glades fall, he doesn't contact her at all. Her calls aren't answered and her texts go without a response. She contacts Dig, but Dig hasn't heard from him either.

It's like he's dropped off of the face of the earth.

Felicity goes to see Tommy once while he's recovering. Flowers don't seem like the sort of thing he would appreciate, but she brings him a soft brown teddy bear holding a stuffed red heart that says "Get better soon," on it.

The room is empty except for Tommy and the nurse who passes Felicity on her way through the door.

Tommy looks up at her with hopeful eyes, but the hope fades quickly. "I think you might have the wrong room."

If Felicity were a less headstrong person, she might have agreed with him, might have murmured an apology and spun on her heel and left with embarrassment causing a blush to spread over her cheeks. Instead, she just says, "You're Tommy Merlyn. You were bleeding in my car. I have the right room."

He blinks, surprised. "I was?"

She nods. "You needed a hospital. I don't blame you for not remembering me."

Tipping his head just a little, he squints at her. "I do know you. Oliver hired you to take care of the wifi at Verdant."

She nods. They'd never really exchanged more than a few texts. The wifi was a good cover for her presence because it was _true_. They were having problems, and it required scheduling with the person managing the bar more than the preoccupied owner using it as a front.

He'd also been the one who cut her the check for fixing everything.

"I just…" she shrugs. "Wanted to see that you were okay. Not every day someone almost dies in your car after a freak earthquake."

Tommy frowns. "Why was I in your car? Why were you there?"

"Oliver called me," she answers. It's the truth. But it was over a comm. unit, and she'd already been in her car on the way to his location. "I was close."

" _Oliver_ called you," he says, and she pushes down a sense of panic. He doesn't believe her. And he knows about Oliver's extra-curricular activities. He could put two and two together and figure out the truth.

She wonders how much of a bad thing that would really be. He knows about Oliver and hasn't turned him in. But maybe that's friendship. Maybe he would protect her to protect Oliver.

She's just not _sure_ , and she's not willing to gamble with Oliver's well-being, much less her own.

So instead, she holds out the bear with both hands. "Here," she says, and Tommy _smiles_. It's a little lopsided, but it lights up his eyes as he takes the stuffed animal from her.

"He's adorable," Tommy says, and maybe he's a little loopy on pain medication, because he kisses it on the forehead before setting it down on the bed next to him. "Thank you."

He's easy to smile back at. "You're welcome."

It gets silent then, neither of them quite sure what to say. After a few moments, the quiet overwhelms her, and she says, "You probably need rest so I should—"

"Felicity?" he asks, and she stops.

"Yes?"

"Have you seen Oliver?"

She shakes her head no. "Not since… not since that night, no. And he's ignoring all my calls and texts."

Tommy sighs and turns his head away from her. So Oliver is ignoring him too. She's not sure if that makes her feel marginally better or if it just angers her that Oliver has gone MIA.

Especially when his best friend just lost his dad and has been stuck in the hospital.

She feels no guilt over the death of Malcolm Merlyn. It was Oliver's call, and the man _decimated_ part of her city because he deemed the people there beneath him. She won't mourn him. She won't miss him. She can say nothing more than 'good riddance'.

But he was Tommy's father. And she sort of thinks that whether Tommy wants to or not, he's going to grieve his dad. Maybe not for who the man was, but definitely for who he _wanted_ him to be.

And that's why Felicity pulls up a chair. "I'm sorry," she says softly. "About your father."

"You'd be the only one," he snaps bitterly. Then, he seems to catch himself. He clears his throat. "Thank you, I guess. He was a shitty dad. He was a shitty _person_."

"Doesn't mean you won't miss him," Felicity says, because she doesn't quite understand the death of a father but she sure as hell knows the _loss_ of one. "My dad took off when I was little. Just up and left. Doesn't mean I still don't miss him. It's stupid as hell, but somehow it seems that it's just… how people work."

Whatever was eating at Tommy fades away. The conversation turns, and before Felicity knows it she's passed the entire afternoon there, chatting with him.

She means to go back. She has every intention of returning to see him, but between the turmoil within Queen Consolidated and her determination to find Oliver, she doesn't make it back to the hospital for a while, and when she _does_ , she finds out that Tommy was released.

And then it becomes abundantly clear that Oliver has no intention of coming back.

Felicity grits her teeth and stares at the million dollars that has suddenly appeared in her bank account. She looks around at a floundering Starling City, looks at the distress and hopelessness that's everywhere. She stares at the green leather jacket in her car trunk with the hole in its shoulder and blood staining the material.

And she knows what Starling needs.

Better than that, she knows how to find him. He didn't cover his tracks well, and the money trail leads her right to his exact location without really having to put in a lot of _effort_.

The one thing she doesn't know is how to get him to come home. Sure, she could fly out there with determination and a prayer, but she'd rather have a trump card. Something he doesn't expect.

And she has an idea of where to find that as well.

* * *

Malcolm Merlyn is not given a funeral, in the traditional sense. Tommy buries him, because the man was a monster but the man was his father. He strongly objects to his father's wish that he be buried beside his late wife, and he downright _scoffs_ at the idea of "beloved father" as the inscription on Malcolm's grave. He packs up every bit of evidence that Malcolm was ever the Dark Archer and puts it in storage. He talks to a realtor about selling the house he was never welcome in. He hides from the press and angry parents who lost children, furious fathers who lost homes.

Laurel shows up on his doorstep with wine and ice cream and he tries to send her away three times before he finally relents. It's not a bad conversation, when it gets down to it, but it doesn't end up solving anything.

They love each other. But there are some things love can't do, some problems it can't solve. Tommy and Laurel are plagued by several big ones. An evening of togetherness and frank conversation doesn't solve them all. It does give them a cleaner break. Tommy hugs her goodbye and kisses her forehead and wishes her well. He wants her in his life, wants her to be okay, to be _happy_.

He was still on the board of Merlyn Global when the Glades fell, and as soon as he can he starts angling for the company to do everything in its power to help rebuild the Glades and right whatever of his father's wrongs he can. Then Merlyn Global is absorbed by Stellmoor International, and they want to cut all ties with the Merlyn name, so Tommy takes the time to negotiate a fair severance package (because fuck Malcolm and his _legacy_ , but Tommy put blood, sweat, and tears into this company. He worked from a hospital room to make sure everything in his power was done to help the people whose lives his father destroyed, and if Stellmoor is going to capitalize off of his goodwill then he's going to take enough to keep him on his feet when they kick him to the curb) and waves it aside.

He's not jobless for long, because Thea approaches him barely a day later with plans for reopening Verdant.

And the day after _that_ , Felicity Smoak shows up at his doorstep.

"I need your help," she says. "It's about Oliver."

There's no acceptable response to that but to step back and allow her in. "Right. _Oliver_. What's wrong with Oliver?"

"He's gone," she says flatly. "And I need to bring him back here. This city needs him."

Before, Tommy had been operating only on the suspicion that Felicity knew about Oliver's nightly activities, but those words change it from _possibility_ to _certainty_.

"The city needs him?"

She gives him a _look_. It's tipped head and pursed lips and rather adorable, actually. "Look. I know what you know and you probably know what I know, so just… you have to _know_ why I need to bring him back. This city is falling apart, and people need hope."

Tommy crosses his arms. Her conviction is endearing, if, he thinks, misguided. "And you think a murderous vigilante in a hood is something that's going to give people _hope_ , Felicity?"

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a green hood. Tommy's stomach turns.

"I think that what he did worked," she says. "I think that he stopped bad people from doing bad things. I think he protected people, saved lives. I _saw_ it, Tommy."

"Even if I believed that, why couldn't you bring him back yourself?"

"Because I think I know why he left, and if I'm right, then he doesn't just need to hear that the city needs him." She takes a step towards him and holds out the hood. "He needs you."

He takes it tentatively, rubbing his fingers across it. The material is not as rough or textured as he would expect. "Why me?"

"Because…" She sighs deeply. "If I know Oliver, he's destroying himself with his own guilt. And I could wait for him to stop brooding and return on his own, but this is _you_ he thinks he hurt. He might never come back."

It's _those_ words that give him pause, because he's lived in a world where Oliver didn't come back. He doesn't want to do it again. Ever.

There's also Thea to think about. Thea, who is torn apart by her mother's involvement in Malcolm's schemes. Thea who has him but still needs her brother and doesn't understand why he left her again.

And while saying Tommy's feelings about his father's death are complicated is the understatement to end all understatements, he _does_ know that his father was capable of killing Oliver, and would have if given the chance.

He can't hate Oliver for keeping himself alive. He can hate Oliver for not telling him the truth, for _never_ wanting to tell him the truth, and he can hate Oliver for the secrets and the lies to _everyone_ , but it's all hollow. It eats at him, and it scrapes at his soul. He's not fond of the sensation.

Besides, if he looks in the mirror while he's angry, the face staring back at him is _Malcolm's_ , and that is unacceptable.

"All right," he tells Felicity. "Where is he?"

He doesn't like her answer, but then, he suspects she doesn't like it much either.

Especially when it means jumping out of a plane.

Tommy, Felicity, and John Diggle land on the beach of _Lian Yu_ and trek through an overwhelming amount of jungle before an unfortunate step of Felicity's causes them to stop. John stays calm, but Tommy feels like there's no way on earth he could possibly suck enough air into his lungs.

The last thing he expects is a shirtless Oliver swinging down from the trees like he's _Tarzan_ and pulling Felicity off of the land mine before it can explode.

When they stand up and Oliver's taken a moment to make sure Felicity is okay—Tommy can tell by the way his hand lingers on her shoulder before sliding down her arm, coupled with the way Oliver frowns and draws his eyebrows together—John and Tommy hike over.

Oliver's clearly pissed, but none of it is directed at Felicity. Instead, he points a finger at John and snaps, "You shouldn't have come. You shouldn't have _brought_ them here."

"I'm flattered that you think I'm the ringleader here, Oliver," John says.

Oliver turns to Tommy by the time John is halfway through that sentence, but Tommy cuts Oliver off before Oliver can turn his irritation on him. "Seriously, Oliver? There's a whole world out there and you come back _here_?"

Oliver lets out a huff of breath and turns away.

"Could you at least pretend like you're glad to see us?" Felicity asks. "We spent weeks tracking you down, we traveled halfway across the world, and this morning we flew in a plane so old I'm pretty sure I was safer when I jumped out of it—

"Screaming," Tommy adds. "Loudly."

She gives him an annoyed look. Tommy holds up his hands in mock surrender and lets her continue.

Before she can, Oliver has a hand on her shoulder. Her mouth snaps shut. His tone is gentle when he says, "I am happy to see you."

"You could act like it," Tommy can't help but point out, although really, Felicity is the only one of them Oliver actually _is_ acting happy to see.

Now, Oliver looks at him. "I failed," he says softly. "I couldn't stop what Malcolm was planning, and people got hurt. Besides, the way I stopped him…"

He can't seem to bear to look at Tommy anymore.

Tommy hadn't spent much time contemplating the fact that Felicity could be right about Oliver leaving because of him, but this confirms it.

"You did what you had to do," Tommy says firmly. "I can see that, Oliver. If you're here seeking some kind of absolution or penance, you don't need to be. You can come home."

Oliver turns away, but Tommy reaches for his shoulder. "Come _home_ , Oliver."

And, miracle of miracles, Oliver does.


	2. Part One: Chapter Two

**A/N:** The next update should be on March 17.

* * *

Felicity Smoak catches Oliver Queen completely off-guard from the moment he meets her. She is, without question, unbearably, unmistakably _real_. She's genuine in a way that is impossible to fake. And it's almost dangerous how attractive he finds that.

It's equally dangerous just how quickly he comes to _need_ her—in both areas of his life. Putting Felicity in charge of Research and Development at QC raises a few eyebrows, but Oliver ignores them. Felicity is bright and passionate. She understands the intricacies of hardware and software, a skill that helps out Oliver's nightly activities as well as his daily ones. Technology moves forward by leaps and bounds in the span of one year, so essentially missing out on five is crippling when so much of his mission relies on intelligence gathering.

He is under no circumstances supposed to fall in love with her. She is a partner, an asset, a _friend_.

There is no room for her to be anything more. Helena taught him that. Laurel taught him that. Sara, Shado, and McKenna taught him that. Being close to Oliver Queen means being close to danger.

But _Felicity_.

Felicity who believed in him so much she dragged him back to Starling, shoved him through the door of a refurbished lair, and grinned when he opened the case with his new bow inside and told her it was _perfect_.

Returning to Starling means figuring out how to stand under the weight of a different responsibility. Hero carries with it a heavier burden than vigilante. CEO of Queen Consolidated carries a heavier burden than owner of Verdant.

He tells himself it's temporary. He'll convince Walter to come back. He'll find someone better suited for the position as soon as Stellmoor is no longer a threat.

He's not Tommy. Robert wasn't Malcolm. Oliver possesses a stronger connection to QC, to what was supposed to be his father's legacy. So even though he hates it, he goes back. Tries to save the sinking ship.

Standing on a rooftop and seeing Sara Lance standing in front of him alive and breathing unsettles the ground beneath his feet. For a moment he questions _everything._ His time on the island, his time in Starling, his _sanity_.

But no, she's there, and she's _real_. Helping her come home soothes some anguish deep inside him, like this big, catastrophic failure from years ago has been rectified.

 _I would bring your sister home if I could_ , he'd once told Laurel. And now he _can_.

Sara and Felicity take a little time to warm up to each other, but once they _do_ , they're inseparable. Oliver starts getting used to jogging down the staircase and finding Sara teaching Felicity on the sparring mats about as often as he expects to see Felicity working at her computers.

Oliver likes knowing that Felicity is getting better at handling herself. With Sara around, the need for her to do the undercover work she's done in the past—infiltrating the casino, sneaking into Merlyn Global—has diminished, but not completely. There's always the chance she could be hurt, especially the closer she gets to him and the closer he gets to her.

And he _is_ feeling closer to her. This lovely, warm feeling fills him when he sees her now, when she rambles, when she jokes with him, when she makes him _smile_.

He knows what it is, has felt it many times in the past. Love is different each time, for each person, but Oliver's never been blind to it, never been oblivious of the direction his heart moves. He is, on occasion, intentionally obtuse, intentionally inclined to minimize the depth of his feelings in order to avoid relationships or repercussions.

And starting something of that nature with _Felicity_? The very idea is incredible and terrifying. The former thought pushes him towards it, the latter makes him back away.

They start carefully, but they do _start,_ and that's the important thing. Felicity stands in the middle of Oliver's office at Queen Consolidated with the Count's needles against her neck, and Oliver makes a decision that changes everything. Three arrows slam into the Count's chest. The glass behind him shatters as he stumbles backwards. Oliver watches just long enough to make sure he's really fallen—really _gone—_ then hurries to check on Felicity.

She's kneeling on the floor, her head down. Shattered glass litters the area around her. Oliver is careful as he kneels in front of her. "You're alright," he tells her softly. "You're safe."

He looks at her for a long moment, and she looks back at him with worried eyes. Grabbing his arm, Felicity whispers, "You're shot."

"Hey," he whispers, cupping her cheek with his gloved hand. "It's nothing."

Carefully, he helps her to her feet. Her legs are wobbly. He holds onto her elbows and tries not to think about how she reaches for his upper arms to steady herself.

His control over his own emotions is unraveling at a frightening speed. It started the moment he answered his phone expecting to hear Felicity's voice and heard the Count's instead. It's built up steadily since then.

And that's why, even though Oliver knows he needs to get out of here, even though he knows he needs to get back to Thea and Tommy and his mother's trial, even though he knows that the Count falling down to the street below with arrows in his chest will have the police rushing here, he can't quite let go of Felicity just yet.

She doesn't pull away when he wraps his arm around her body, pressing the length of his forearm against her lower back. She leans in, slipping an arm up around his neck, and the other around his ribs.

She's so close, and his head's still spinning with thoughts of those needles sinking into her skin. Without really thinking about it, Oliver ducks his head down. He's not consciously angling for a kiss. He's just trying to get a little closer, get a better view of her face. Keep making sure she's okay.

She's tilting her head up, he's leaning down, and their lips meet in a kiss that is practically inevitable. It lasts for a fraction of a moment, the gentlest, simplest touch.

"Oh," Felicity says when it's over, and they're still so close together that he can feel the wave of her breath on his mouth.

"Yeah," he manages to say. His voice sounds small and uncertain even to his ears.

"You should go," she says, and his heart sinks. "I'm okay. I'll call Lance, and the police will be here soon."

He presses his lips firmly together. She's right. "Be careful. Call me back if you need anything."

She nods. "I will."

When Oliver makes it back to the lair, he finds Felicity sitting in her usual chair, a grey blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Diggle has clearly been standing guard next to her for the past few hours.

The conversation circles around Moira's mysterious acquittal for a few moments before Diggle leaves Oliver and Felicity alone.

To escape the awkward silence that springs up once he's gone, Oliver moves to follow him, but Felicity calls out his name.

He turns. It's not any trouble to have an excuse to look at her again, to be reminded that the Count really was stopped and that she's really okay.

"I just wanted to say thank you," she says. "And I'm sorry."

He frowns, confused. "For what?"

"I got myself into trouble again, and you… killed him." Her voice is quiet, anxious. "You killed again and I'm sorry that I was the one to put you in the position where you had to make that kind of choice."

"Felicity," he reaches over and takes her hand. There are a million things he could say, a thousand declarations he could make, but his brain simplifies it down to the two thoughts racing through his mind when he'd stood in front of the Count and let go of his bowstring without any hesitation. "He had you, and he was gonna hurt you. There was no choice to make."

She nods. The slight lift of her left shoulder and the slight tip of her head telegraphs her nervousness. "There's… another thing we should probably talk about. The Count was threatening me, and he knew who you were, and you were waiting for a verdict for Moira, and I was—well, you know where _I_ was—and Diggle was still detoxing, and I want you to know that if you want to just forget that anything even—"

"Felicity," he interrupts, setting his other hand on her shoulder.

Her eyes go wide, and he very slowly pulls his hand away.

"I'm bad at this, Felicity," he tells her. "I don't think I've _ever_ been good at it. You're more than aware of my track record."

"I know," she says.

"But…" He takes a deep breath. Oliver has jumped out of an airplane. Several times. No leap has felt as daunting and terrifying as this one. "I don't want to forget anything."

"Oh," she says again, in the same whispery, breathy tone. He sort of likes that he's made her speechless.

"We don't—" He presses his thumb against his first and second fingers, rubbing firmly, wanting a bowstring. "We don't have to talk about it any more right now."

"You should get back to Thea," Felicity says quietly, nodding.

"Tommy's with her right now," Oliver tells her. "But yes, I should."

"So we'll talk later," she says.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Later."

* * *

Tommy makes it a point to catch Oliver the second he steps foot inside the door. "Thea's in the living room with Ben and Jerry's and _Singing In The Rain_."

After they got her home, Moira went straight to bed, and Tommy instigated their semi-regular movie night in an effort to help Thea calm down. Musicals usually did the trick, especially if he sang along with them.

She's settled down some, which is why Tommy could tuck another blanket around her shoulders and kiss her forehead and tell her he'd be back.

"We need to talk," Tommy says, and Oliver nods.

There isn't an easy way to say what he needs to say to Oliver, so Tommy just goes for it.

"I think Thea might be my sister," Tommy tells Oliver, at the same time Oliver says, "I kissed Felicity."

Oliver's declaration might have a bit more of an impact if Tommy hadn't spent the past few hours adding two-plus-two and hoping they weren't going to equal four.

They speak again at the same time. "You think Thea's your sister?" "You kissed Felicity?"

There's a long pause.

"You go first," Oliver says finally. "What is this about Thea?"

"I've been doing the math," Tommy says. "When Moira confessed to being with my—with _him_ , plus when Thea was born… She wouldn't tell me. One way or the other. And I asked her directly."

Tommy's aware that Moira's evasion could be a _no_ , but it could also very easily be a _yes._ He'd expected heartbreak or sorrow in her eyes. What he saw was fury. Disgust. At him or at his father, Tommy doesn't know.

It's obvious the exact moment what Tommy is saying hits Oliver. He takes a step back, tilting his head up toward the ceiling and blowing a stream of air through pursed lips. Tommy gives him a second to process.

"Unfortunately for her," Oliver says. "We have everything we need to find out the truth on our own. Talk to Thea. We can do a DNA test."

"What if…" Tommy hesitates. He's trusted Oliver a lot, but thanks to his father's undertaking, things he once only alluded to he now has to face head-on. "I wouldn't want to know, if I were her. I wouldn't want _Malcolm_ to be—"

"She deserves to know the truth, whatever it is. You both do." Oliver closes his eyes, sways slightly on his feet. He sighs deeply. "But I don't think the truth is going to change as much about your relationship as you think it will."

Tommy's breath catches. That was the best possible thing Oliver could have said.

He looks exhausted, and Tommy remembers what else happened tonight. He's been pushing it aside all evening, focused on Thea and Moira and his own father, in a weird way. But he'd be lying to himself if he didn't acknowledge that worry for Felicity and Oliver was present in the back of his mind all night. "How's our girl?"

"Alive." Oliver falls back against the door. "A little shaken. Otherwise unharmed."

"She's shaken?" Tommy asks. "Or _you're_ shaken?"

"Both," Oliver answers. "If I had… If I had hesitated a second longer, I would have lost her."

"But you didn't," Tommy grabs Oliver's shoulder. "You didn't hesitate, and she's _okay_."

His eyes drift, and Tommy wonders where his best friend just went. To the island? To a different night wearing the hood? To the CNRI building falling apart around them? "Oliver?"

"I killed him," Oliver says roughly, pressing the heels of his hands against his forehead. "I put three arrows in him to keep him from hurting her. And when I came back I said that I would never—"

He ducks his head down, hiding his face. Tommy waits. Once Oliver seems to have gotten a grip on his emotions, he looks back up.

"You _saved her_ ," Tommy corrects. "And if given the choice, would you do it again? Spare him and lose her?" He knows which he would choose. It's Felicity. Losing her is… unthinkable.

Behind his hands, Oliver nods.

"Good." Tommy decides the best thing for Oliver is to simply act like the matter is settled until Oliver chooses to bring it up again. "At what point during the evening did you kiss her?"

He hesitates. Finally: "When I was making sure she was okay."

Of course, Tommy thinks. The second his guard was down he gave in to something he's wanted for a while now. "What are you going to do about it?"

Oliver's mouth opens. He looks like he's trying to find words, but then he closes it again without saying anything.

"Oliver," Tommy says sharply. "The woman _jumped out of a plane_ to bring you home. You look at her like… I don't even know." His brain wants to fill in _like you look at me_ , but instead what comes out is: "Like she is the most important thing in your world."

"Because of the life that I lead, I just think it's better to not be with someone that I could really care about," Oliver says softly.

Tommy laughs echos through the room. "Well then, you're an idiot. What's the point in being with someone you don't really care about? You and I both know you're not wired that way. And trying to make yourself something you're not, where your _heart_ is concerned? Oliver. You're just going to be miserable."

"I can't ask her to—

"What?" Tommy interrupts. "Be a part of this life? Look around. She's been a part of this for almost a _year_. She's not running. So why are you?"

Oliver stares at him. "I don't know."

"Talk to her," Tommy says. "You talk to her about everything else. Why not this?"

"I'll talk to her," Oliver agrees. Off of Tommy's look he says, "I _will_."

Thea comes out of the living room then, and both of them go silent. "I paused the movie," she tells Tommy. "Got to your favorite part."

"Thanks," he tells her gently.

She turns to Oliver, and her calm demeanor ramps up to anger in a split-second. "Where _were_ you?"

"Thea—" Tommy begins, wanting to somehow defend Oliver, but at the same time not having the ability to explain.

"I'm sorry," Oliver tells her. "It was an emergency."

Thea scowls. "An emergency that takes precedence over our own _mother_?"

"I can't give you details," Oliver says. "It's not my place. But it was life or death, Thea. Please believe me."

She looks at Tommy. "You know?"

Silently, he nods.

"And you think he did the right thing?"

"Thea," Tommy says very carefully. "I _know_ Oliver did the right thing."

She runs for Oliver then, crashes into him in a fierce hug. Oliver glances at Tommy over Thea's head. "Speedy. We need to ask you something."

"Okay," she says, stepping back and tucking her hair back behind her ears. "What's going on?"

Tommy is glad Oliver seems to know what to say, because all the words are stuck in a huge knot in his throat.

"Would you be willing to have a DNA test done?"

Thea tips her head to one side, "Why would I—"

She glances over at Tommy, and her eyes go wide. "Oh."

"We just," Tommy reaches for her arm. "We think it would be better to _know_."

"Couldn't mom just tell…" Thea stops, shaking her head. "No, I guess she wouldn't even if she could."

Tommy exchanges a look with Oliver. Neither of them are in a position to trust that Moira will just hand over the truth, not when she fought so long and so hard to keep it buried.

It makes Tommy wonder what other secrets she's keeping hidden away. But all he says is, "Thank you, Thea."

"You want to protect me," she says. "I get it."

"Trust me," Tommy says, giving Oliver a pointed glance. "Sometimes the truth is the best protection there is."

* * *

Sleep eludes Felicity that night. It's at least partially the fault of the adrenaline, but she'd be lying to herself if she didn't also acknowledge the other reason.

Oliver's lips were soft, off-set by the scratch of his stubble against her mouth. Her heart was beating so rapidly she wasn't quite sure the Count _hadn't_ slipped her a hint of Vertigo.

But it's not just the kiss. The kiss itself was lovely, simple. It's the implications of the kiss that are complicated.

And Felicity's mind loves examining things that are complicated. She just wishes it wouldn't do so in lieu of _sleep_.

She's past denying a certain degree of feeling towards Oliver. That's nothing new. Since the moment he wandered into her office with the most ridiculous of stories, Felicity was intrigued by the mystery that was Oliver Queen.

Finding out he was the hooded vigilante raised more questions than it answered. Every mark on his body—and there are many—tells a story Felicity's never heard.

More than that though, Oliver's mission, his presence in her life, changes something inside Felicity. It's a catalyst that makes everything she's done up until that point make sense.

In college, she wanted to change the world. When the world didn't want to change the way she thought it needed to, she let it change her. She never really regretted that. But helping Oliver's crusade has given her a purpose and fulfillment that she never had in her office at QC. He may never know how much she owes him for that.

Her usual routine to fall back asleep—a late night _The X Files_ marathon and a cup of hot tea—does nothing to slow down her mind. She dozes, eventually, but she's wide awake again when the sun starts to rise. Going for a run is tempting, but that's not what she really thinks she _needs_.

What she wants is to put her hands on something, to piece something together from broken pieces. She dresses quickly. It's Saturday, no need to go into work, so Felicity grabs jeans and a blouse, and slides her feet into her favorite panda flats.

Lately, the foundry has felt more like home than her own townhouse. Her computer system hums as she wakes it up, settling into her usual chair and taking a moment to use a push of her toes to spin around.

She was right. Her brain wanted a problem. It takes only a few minutes for her to sink into her work, letting it overtake every spare bit of brainpower she has. It settles her in the way few other things can.

It's no wonder, then, that she doesn't hear Oliver come in. They are, of course, alike enough that they seek solitude and comfort in the same way.

"Hey," Oliver says. There's something supremely unfair about how attractive he looks in a pair of dark jeans and a navy sweater.

Felicity scoots back in her chair. "Hi," she says. "Couldn't sleep either?"

He shakes his head. Picking up one of his tennis balls, he throws it against the concrete floor and catches is as it bounces up. "Between the trial and the Count and… Tommy thinks Thea might be Malcolm's daughter."

She raises her eyebrows and purses her lips. "Scary thing about that is how right the timing is."

"And then..." The tennis ball is keeping a steady _thump_ against the floor and then a _snap_ when it jumps back into Oliver's hand. He looks right at her, and she can't read his expression. "...then there's you."

Her heartbeat quickens. She may have said 'later', but she never really thought they'd get back to it. She assumed that as soon as they talked it would be over. It's why she was hoping to avoid the talking.

"If you're having second thoughts—" she starts.

"What?" Oliver's brows furrow in confusion. "No. I'm not. I—"

Quickly, he moves in front of her, kneeling down. He takes her hands in his. "Felicity… I'm not having second thoughts. I know what I want. What I am concerned about has nothing to do with how I feel about you."

She tightens her hold on his hands. "What are you concerned about?"

He takes a deep breath. "Losing you. That you'll get caught in the crossfire, that I won't be able to protect you."

"Both of those things happened tonight, Oliver. And I'm still here."

His eyes close. He bows his head. She can tell he's struggling with words, and although she waits a few moments for him, eventually his silence is too much.

"Which do you think is better?" she asks. "To have what we both want for a little while but lose it, or to deny ourselves out of fear and lose each other anyway?"

Felicity knows better than anyone how much it can hurt to miss something you've never had. A father, for instance. This, this possibility of _something_ with Oliver is absolutely something she'll miss. Even now she's scared he'll decide she's not worth the risk—of his life, of his mission, of his heart.

"I just want you to know what you're getting into." Oliver shifts closer to her. "The life that I live. The things that I _do_. The things that I have _done_ …"

It strikes her then that the vigilante—the _Arrow_ —is kneeling in front of her. He is, in every sense of the word, _dangerous_. Deadly. But Felicity hasn't spent the past year falling for the Arrow. She hasn't spent it falling for _the_ infamous playboy Oliver Queen. The person she's falling for is the one who stands at the point where those two identities intersect. The one who kissed her in Queen Consolidated, dressed in green but with the hood gone and his face clearly visible.

"You don't know what I've done," she says softly. "There are things in my past too. Maybe they aren't as Shakespearean, but they're _there_. This isn't about your past. This is about you right now. And I really like who that person is. You stand up against injustice. You protect people. You _love_ people."

He smiles up at her, and a warm, pleasant feeling blooms in Felicity's chest. He's looking at her like she's—well, everything.

"You're extraordinary," he tells her. "Absolutely extraordinary."

She has the sudden urge to lean over, touch his hair, splay her fingers against the back of his neck, kiss his forehead. There's something deeply satisfying about him looking up at her like this, with unspoken adoration in his eyes. It's always been there, really, but now his guard is down and _wow_.

How often has she looked at Oliver without actually _seeing_?

Oliver stands, keeping hold of Felicity's hands. The slight tug encourages her to stand to her feet as well. "Felicity. Let me take you out to dinner."

"Okay," she says with a smile.

"Italian?" he lifts an eyebrow. "Everybody likes Italian, right?"

His nervousness is endearing. It's so rare to see Oliver flustered. It makes her feel special. He _likes_ her. A year ago she'd never have believed it.

"I like Italian," Felicity reassures him with a smile.


	3. Part One: Chapter Three

**A/N:** This is the chapter where we earn the M rating for the first time, so read responsibly. The next update should be on March 24.

* * *

Tommy considers Felicity a friend sooner than she likely considers him one. She brought him a 'get well' teddy bear and that sealed her fate. The more time he spends getting to know her, the more he just genuinely likes her.

At first it's just the occasional end-of-day drink. They both work either in or under a bar, the woman _adores_ a good glass of red wine, and Tommy likes finding good vintages. By the time the Arrowcave is closed for the night, so is Verdant—which is likely exactly how Oliver planned it. Felicity is the one who comes upstairs and sits at the bar and tells him about her day.

At first, he wonders if it's just because he's one of the only people who knows her greatest secret, but eventually he decides she just likes talking to _him_.

And that is an _incredible_ feeling.

"What ever happened," she asks him one night over a glass of one of Tommy's favorite vintages, "between you and Laurel?"

He stares at her, trying to stomp down the bitterness that still washes over him when he thinks about that. He wishes it wouldn't, but he's all-too-often powerless to stop it. He almost had everything he always wanted, but—

"I wasn't Oliver," he tells her softly.

"And that was a dealbreaker?" She fidgets on her barstool. "For her or for you?"

"Both, I think," he answers, pouring himself another glass. "But more for me."

Felicity stares at the bottom of her glass. "Because she still loves him? Or because he still loves her?"

"Because I'm screwed up just enough to be unable to comprehend not living in his shadow," Tommy says, "And she was smart enough to know she didn't deserve that."

Felicity takes a sip of her wine. "So she let you go?"

He thinks about that for a moment. "I think we let each other go."

Nodding thoughtfully, she lets the conversation drift elsewhere, and he's grateful.

Other conversations touch on different subjects. They talk about Oliver a lot. Tommy finds it helpful to discuss the differences in his friend with someone who has only ever known him as he is now.

The first time Tommy sees Felicity after her encounter with Count Vertigo, he can't help but wrap her up in a hug. She holds on just as long and tightly as he does. It's early enough in the afternoon that Verdant is empty, but Tommy already feels like he's been awake forever, between worrying about the results of Thea's DNA test and realizing just how close Felicity came to dying the night before.

"You're okay?" he whispers into her hair.

He feels her nod against his chest. "It was a long night," she says, "But I'm okay."

"Did you sleep at _all_?" he asks as the hug breaks.

She makes a face.

"That's a no," Tommy says. "You should go home and rest."

"Everything's just been so _busy_." She taps her temple with her forefinger. "Up here. I couldn't stop _thinking_. And then I saw Oliver and he gave me even more to think about."

Tommy avoids her gaze. "He told me about, well…"

It's not that he's upset, or jealous. He knows what it is to be jealous of Oliver. This is not it.

But for a little while, he'd been blind to Oliver's burgeoning feelings for Felicity. It was denial. Tommy should have realized a lot sooner, but he'd stupidly assumed that Oliver and Laurel would make another go at it.

He was wrong. Oliver had already let Laurel go. He just failed to see it.

So the tiny speck inside him that looks at Felicity and sees _maybe_ , that needs to go. The sooner the better, because Tommy has already walked down this road once, and he can't do it again. He won't.

But sometimes he looks at Felicity and feels the same ache in his chest that he once did for Laurel. _The right girl_.

But both of them are the wrong girl. Laurel's busy dating the guy who owns the gym she frequents—Ted something—and the huge _maybe_ in Felicity's life is _Oliver_. Tommy's known that almost from the start. He doesn't think it'll take Oliver very long to move forward now that he's been given a push. Oliver's head might be his greatest enemy in matters of the heart, but once he gives himself permission… he goes after what he wants.

Tommy almost envies that about him. Tommy's far too inclined to dance around his own desires, only moving forward in half-measures and nervous steps forward, always scared what he wants is going to be snatched away from him as soon as he tries to touch it.

"He asked me out to dinner," Felicity says softly.

Tommy ducks his head, disguising the painful expression on his face with a nod.

"I said yes." There's a nervousness about her now. An anxiety. One of their conversations flows back to him in pieces, and he realizes what he's looking at. It's something he sees sometimes when he looks in the mirror. For whatever reason, Felicity is scared she's going to lose him.

Right then and there, he vows that she won't. "I'm glad," he manages to say. "It was about time Oliver pulled his head out of his ass."

She smiles hopefully at him. "I'm just… I'm nervous everything is going to change."

"It will," he tells her—not to break her heart, but because it's true. "But that's not necessarily a bad thing. I think Oliver could use some good changes, and I think that's what you'll be."

She gives him a long look that he isn't quite sure how to interpret. For just a second he can see _everything_ with her. Omelets. Mornings. Companionship. Long talks over bottles of wine.

And for the first time, Tommy wonders if Felicity Smoak has held onto two _maybes_ for the past few months. Oliver is one of them.

But the other is him.

"Okay," she says, giving his arm a squeeze. "I'm going to get home and try to sleep… _again_."

"I hope you do," Tommy says. He watches as she leaves, then turns to the bar and pours himself a stiff drink.

* * *

Considering the numerous interruptions that arise in their line of work, the fact that Oliver and Felicity's dinner date goes off without a hitch is a miracle.

Felicity's not sure what she's expecting—explosions? daring escapes? an attempted kidnapping?—but they smile shyly at each other over plates of incredible pasta and the most amazing melt-in-your-mouth hot buttered breadsticks in existence. Felicity strongly considers sneaking a few out in her purse.

It takes them a little while to settle into a comfortable conversation, for them to stop dancing around each other and just speak honestly. In many ways, the night feels like an extension of the way they talk normally, just with the inclusion of topics they usually avoid.

They talk about the island. They talk about Felicity's childhood. Not just about what happened during those times in their lives, but how they _felt_ , how it changed them.

Oliver orders a _divine_ bottle of red wine, and at the end of the night they share a dessert—Felicity forgets what they even order, but it's rich and chocolatey and creamy.

She's giddy as Oliver walks her up to her door. His hand is rough and warm against hers. Comforting.

"We did it," Felicity tells him as they climb her front steps. "We made it through an actual _date_. Without getting sidetracked by any…" She waves a hand around for emphasis. "Emergencies."

He shifts his stance in a way that casually puts him right in her personal space. "We did."

Felicity momentarily loses the ability to draw breath. When he looks at her like that, a careful smile on his lips and hope in his eyes, it wipes away her doubt and trepidation. His hope, small as it is, makes hers stronger.

Whispering her name, Oliver skims the fingertips of his free hand across her jawline. She tilts her chin up, anticipating, waiting, wanting his kiss.

He ducks his head down and brings his mouth to hers. Felicity isn't quite sure what she was expecting, but the fireworks show that ensues _delivers_. This kiss is nothing like the first one. This is heated, passionate. It thrills Felicity down to her toes. Oliver's embrace is tight, his arms locked around her ribcage in a way that feels safe rather than imposing. She presses her hands to his chest, tugs just a little at his tie.

Her body is practically buzzing when the kiss ends; her breathing is ragged. Her heart is racing in her chest.

"Wow," she whispers, eyes still closed.

"Yeah," Oliver says. His lips brush against hers one more time; he bites gently at her bottom lip.

She's struck by the fact that she could just… invite him in. She could unlock her front door and drag him inside by his tie, shove him against the nearest wall and tear his clothes off.

But as much as her body is screaming at her to do it, and her heart _wants_ it, alarm bells are blaring in her head.

This is too fast. This is _too_ fast.

She could give him _everything_ , all the pieces of her heart, let him into all the cracks and crevices, and then he could turn around and _leave her_.

The terror from that thought is enough to force her backward, out of Oliver's arms. She tries to disguise the slip, unzipping her purse and fumbling for her keys, but Oliver catches on immediately. He covers her shoulders with his hands and slowly rubs down her arms to her elbows.

"Hey," he says softly. "Did I do something wrong?"

He looks so worried and uncertain that she's quick to shake her head. "No," she tells him. "It's me. It's just…"

Figuring out how to say what she wants to say is a bit tricky, but finally she comes up with: "You may have noticed that I don't talk a lot about my parents." Except tonight. She'd mentioned her mother tonight, growing up in Vegas and counting cards and building computers, but she'd meticulously avoided the reason her dad wasn't in the picture. It was stupid, but part of her wondered… if she told Oliver how easy she was to leave, if she'd plant the idea in his head.

He gives her the tiniest of smiles. "I have noticed that."

"I don't really know what my father is, cause he abandoned us." She lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "I barely remember him, but I do remember how much it hurt when he left. And just the thought of losing someone that important to me again—"

"Hey," his tone is _so_ gentle it brings tears to her eyes, and she winces because she really doesn't want to cry. Not after tonight was so amazingly wonderful. "You're not going to lose me. I'm..." he swallows. "I'm right _here_. I have run away from a lot of things in my life, but I'm not running from this, from _you_."

She nods. "I'm sorry. This date was ending a lot better than I thought it would and then I opened my mouth."

He frowns at her, almost looking insulted. "How did you think it was going to go?"

"Explosions?" she tries, her voice oddly high as she tries to sound lighthearted. "Definitely explosions. Or… y'know, just various other Arrow-related interruptions. I didn't think we'd get _here_. At my doorway..." She's helpless to stop her blush. "Saying goodnight."

"We don't have to say goodnight," he tells her lowly. "Not for a while at least."

"If we put it off," she shifts on her feet. "I have a feeling we'll be saying good _morning_."

"Would that be so bad?" he asks.

Felicity is fairly certain that under no circumstances could waking up in bed with Oliver be bad. "As long as you're _there_. As long as you _stay_."

He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. "I'll be there. I'll stay, Felicity. I promise."

It could be his tone or his expression, but she believes him. She tugs at his hand. "Come inside?"

"I'd love to," he says.

She _doesn't_ push him up against the wall and tear his clothes off, but she _does_ tug on his tie a little bit to coax him over the threshold.

"Coffee?" she starts to ask, but he steps forward, puts his hands to her hips, and kisses her.

Felicity hums against his mouth, moving backward, pulling him along with her towards the staircase. Her ankles hit the back of the steps, and she loses her balance. Oliver grabs onto her to keep her from falling, and, laughing lightly, she lowers herself down so she can sit on the fourth step.

Without missing a beat, Oliver kneels in front of her and takes off her shoes. They're these gorgeous black pumps with ribbon criss-crossed around her ankle. Oliver pulls at the ends of the ribbon to undo the bow and gently loosens the knot. His fingers brush against her skin as he unwraps the ribbon and gently pulls off her shoe. He does the right, then the left. When he's finished, he leans forward and leaves kisses along the insides of her thighs as he shoves the short skirt of her dress up her legs.

Putting her hands on his shoulders, Felicity pushes him back a little. She crooks a finger around the knot of his tie and wiggles it a bit to loosen it. He watches her patiently while she pulls it up and over his head. When she begins undoing the buttons of his shirt, Oliver removes his suit jacket and folds it neatly, placing it on the floor next to Felicity's shoes.

After undoing three buttons, she lifts her hands and strokes her thumbs across his temples. Oliver closes his eyes and bows his head, and the only word Felicity can think of to describe the expression on his face is _surrender_.

"We should find a bed," she tells him.

Oliver rocks back, pushing himself onto his feet. He takes her hands and helps her stand. "Lead the way," he tells her.

She does; he follows quietly. Felicity stops outside her bedroom door. Oliver's fingers find the zipper of her dress. He draws it down as far has he can—three quarters of the way down her back—and slips his hands beneath the material to slide the dress down her arms. Once her arms are free, Felicity braces her palms against the door, sighing contentedly as Oliver kisses his way down the ridge of her spine, unhooking her bra on the way down. He drags her skirt down her legs, runs his hands over her thighs.

Dropping her head against the door, Felicity reaches down and twists the knob. The two of them practically fall forward into the room. Felicity tosses her bra aside and twists around, grabbing at Oliver's shirt.

"Off," she tells him, unaffected by the buttons she accidently pops off as she yanks at it.

He chuckles, but helps her, shucking off his shirt and undoing his belt. Felicity falls back on the bed, watching.

Oliver slows his movements down. The shirt is already on the floor, but he takes his time pulling off his belt, toeing off his shoes, tugging down his pants, removing his socks.

When he finishes, Oliver pauses. His eyes drift appreciatively down her body, and Felicity squirms a little.

"You're beautiful," he tells her. His hand cups her knee, fingertips inching up her thigh, then slowly dragging back down. She gasps and shudders, and he does it again. "So beautiful, Felicity."

Felicity studies him. She isn't sure if she should pay attention to his scars or ignore them. If she draws attention to them, by touching them or kissing them, will it make Oliver close up? Shut down?

But if she ignores them, she's ignoring part of him.

As Oliver moves to kneel on the mattress, Felicity scoots back to give him room. She keeps herself in a sitting position and reaches forward to touch her fingers to the ridges of the curved scar on his left side. She looks him right in the eye as she does. It's a question: _Is this okay?_

Oliver covers her hand with his and nods, so Felicity keeps going. She kisses the scar from his duel with Malcolm Merlyn, and the long gash across his ribs. She doesn't _linger_. She doesn't make this moment about anything other than simple acceptance and affection.

After a bit, Felicity lies back down, letting her hand trail down the length of Oliver's arm to his wrist as she does.

"C'mere," she says, crooking a finger on her opposite hand at him. She doesn't have to tell him twice. He climbs carefully on top of her, bracing his forearms on the mattress to her right and to her left. Oliver ducks his head down and kisses beneath her jaw, taking a moment to tug on her earlobe with his teeth and then kiss his way down her neck and across her collarbone. Felicity lifts her hips to meet his as he grinds against her, loving and hating the slow pace all at once.

At one point, she'd had the vague imaginings of having sex with Oliver as it being some quick, impassioned affair, before certain death or in the heat of the moment. This is _nice_ slow. It feels intentional, purposeful.

They're not making the most of a little time or scratching an itch. This _means_ something.

That thought is more thrilling than the pulse of arousal between her legs.

"Felicity." Oliver's voice is a little strained. His hand slides beneath her panties, and she can't stop her hips from bucking against the touch of his fingers. "Felicity." He rests his forehead against hers, presses a quick kiss against her lips. "I want—"

His fingers play expertly against her, slow, teasing circles. Felicity's brain short-circuits for a moment on the mix of satisfaction and pleasure sweeping through her. It's just what she needs, and somehow she still wants more.

"I want to take my time with you," he says. "I do."

And she suddenly understands exactly what he's saying.

"Round two," she tells him, imagining for just a moment the joy of waking up with his head between her thighs. "I promise. Right now I want you inside me."

The look he gives her is filled with such relief that she can't help taking his face in her hands and kissing him. The hand not between her legs slides underneath her back, pressing her firmly against him. She can feel how ready he is.

A thrill of excitement shoots through her. She bends her knees, pressing her feet flat against the bed, spreading her thighs wider. As Oliver pulls back, Felicity follows him by sitting up, holding onto his neck. Oliver chuckles warmly against her lips. It's only when he starts pulling her underwear down her legs that she lets herself let go of his neck and drop back to the mattress.

When Oliver looks like he's going to lean down and kiss her again, Felicity lifts her leg and presses the ball of her foot to his chest. "Yours too."

He pretty much has to stand up to take off his boxers, but Felicity doesn't really mind, because it means she gets to look at him more. That reminds her—

"Jewelry box," Felicity tells him, breathless. "On the dresser. Bottom right drawer."

Gingerly, Oliver opens the drawer and pulls out a string of condoms. Ripping one off the line, he moves back over to her. Scooting to the edge of the bed to meet him, Felicity takes it. She's careful as she opens it, as she pinches the tip and rolls it on.

Once it's in place, she tilts her head up to kiss Oliver, wrapping her arms around his neck. He holds her impossibly close, runs his hands down her spine.

Moving forward as he breaks the kiss, Oliver lowers her back down to the bed. She watches with her lower lip caught between her teeth as he kisses her stomach, her ribs, her breasts. The scruff of his beard scrapes against her skin, but it's a sharp contrast to the warmth of his mouth.

Impatient, Felicity gives his hair a sharp tug. He obeys her immediately, moving into a better position, reaching down to circle her clit with his thumb. She whines, moving her hips, rubbing against him, spurned on by the quiet groan he makes.

He tucks her hair behind her ear, lightly kisses her lips, and whispers her name as he slides inside her.

It's been a while, and it's a lot. Felicity doesn't fight the urge to close her eyes and just feel.

"Felicity?" he asks, his voice strained.

She realizes he's waiting for her to look at him, to acknowledge him, to tell him he's okay. That he's not hurting her.

Opening her eyes, Felicity makes sure she's looking directly at Oliver. She brushes her fingertips across his forehead. "Hey," she says.

"Hi," he tells her, and then he _smiles_. It reaches all the way up to his eyes.

Oliver's smiles are so rare, so precious, that it makes Felicity want to cry. The evidence of his happiness, _here_ , in bed with her, is overwhelming. She moves her hips, taking him deeper inside her, and he _gasps_ , letting his head fall beside her shoulder, murmuring her name.

His thrusts are shallow and slow. She can feel him, large and strong over her, around her, but so _controlled_. So steady.

"That's good," she tells him. "That feels so good."

The kiss he gives her is sloppy, uncoordinated. The edge of need to it more than makes up for how unpracticed it is, how their lips don't quite align right.

Felicity doesn't miss the way Oliver's breathing changes or how he starts speeding up, losing rhythm, every movement feeling more frantic. His thumb is still on her clit, and the combination of both sensations has her panting and making little noises in the back of her throat.

He touches his hand to her cheek, and she lets her eyes flutter open, looking up at him. He looks a bit like he's trying to say something, trying to put some intangible emotion into words, but everything else is just too much. Somehow, the look he gives her is all she needs. Felicity digs her nails into Oliver's shoulders as she comes, cursing and crying out his name.

"Please," she hears him saying softly, desperately, over and over again. "Please, Felicity."

Lifting her legs, she presses her heels into his lower back and says, "Come on, Oliver. It's okay."

It takes him a few more moments, but then his mouth is dropping open and his forehead is pressed against hers and _damn_ these are sights and sounds that she never wants to forget.

Afterwards, they're both breathing heavily, staring at each other. "Wow," Felicity whispers, right before Oliver kisses her softly, framing her face with his hands and slipping his tongue into her mouth.

It shouldn't come as a surprise that Oliver Queen is a cuddler, but it does amaze her, just a little. After they've taken turns in the bathroom, he wraps his arms around her like it's the most natural thing in the world. Sprawled across his chest with her hand over his heart, feeling warm and safe and perfectly _wonderful_ , Felicity falls asleep.

In the morning, Felicity wakes up with sunlight streaming through her bedroom window and her thighs hooked over Oliver Queen's shoulders while his tongue works magic between her legs.


	4. Part One: Chapter Four

**A/N:** Next update should be March 31st.

* * *

Tommy Merlyn gets a sister for Christmas. It's not the puppy he asked his mom for when he was six, but it's damn close. He sits in the Queen's living room with Thea and Oliver, and he watches as Thea opens the envelope with trembling hands.

His heart is beating so fast with nervousness that the time Thea spends perusing the envelope's contents feels like an eternity. After a few moments, she leans over to Oliver, holding out the paper, and quietly asks, "Does that mean what I think it means?"

Tommy feels sick. Thea's eyes are filled with tears, and Oliver's face is stony and unreadable.

"You're my half-brother," Thea whispers, and Tommy's secretly glad _that's_ how she phrases it. _Malcolm is my father_ would have been much harder to hear.

(Malcolm is gone, he reminds himself. He may have been able to hurt Tommy, to hurt Rebecca, but he cannot and will not _ever_ be able to hurt Thea.)

While Tommy's first impulse is to lunge forward and sweep Thea—his _sister_ —up into a hug, he stamps it down, waits. Oliver's arm is around Thea's shoulders, and she leans against him as she cries softly. Tommy wishes he knew the cause for her tears, happiness or sadness or just being overwhelmed, but he feels like his normal ability to read Thea Queen like a book has been broken. He's never seen these pages before.

Anxiously, Tommy rubs his hands over his knees and stands up. He hates himself for pacing, but there's too much energy and emotion built up inside him to sit still.

After a few moments, Thea walks up to him shyly, which is an odd look on Thea. She doesn't lift her face to meet his eyes, but she steps right into his personal space, wraps her arms around his ribs, and holds onto him tightly.

Effortlessly, Tommy returns the hug, dipping his head down to kiss the top of her head affectionately.

"I'm sorry you won a mass-murdering father in the mail today," he tells her.

His only answer is a sob that evolves into a laugh halfway through.

"I guess that makes me your consolation prize."

Thea backs away then, pokes him in the chest with her forefinger, and says, "You are grand prize material and grand prize material _only_."

"So are you," he says. "I mean that."

"You've been a great older brother my whole life," Thea says. "I like that it's official now."

"Me too," he agrees.

In the end, it doesn't change all that much. Tommy and Thea are, in all the ways that matter, still _them_. But it does alter the connection between them, and not in a bad way. Thea asks questions about Malcolm, about what it was like growing up with him.

Tommy doesn't sugarcoat things. In no world is he allowing Thea Queen to believe anything untrue about their biological father. It leads to him opening up about things the world doesn't know regarding what really happened behind the closed doors of the Merlyns' house. Thea learns some things even Oliver doesn't know.

It strains Thea's relationship with Moira. All Tommy knows is that the confrontation between the two women on the subject ends with Thea storming out of the house and sleeping on his couch for a week.

They reconcile, but Tommy thinks their relationship will likely never be the same again.

Oliver's more inclined to forgive Moira, but then, Oliver wasn't the subject of Moira's lies and omissions this time.

Thea sleeping on his couch for a few weeks means that he has the perfect opportunity to pester her to come running in the mornings. Tommy usually meets up with Sara and Felicity to take a jog around the park, and when he can, he drags Thea along with them. If she thinks it's weird that he's running around with Oliver's current girlfriend and Oliver's recently returned-from-the-dead former flame, she doesn't say anything about it.

"You all training for a marathon or something?" Thea asks the first morning while they wait for Felicity to fix the ties of her shoes.

"Something like that," Sara says, with a bit of an impish grin.

Tommy's the one Felicity talks to about Sara. Well, he has a sense that Diggle is another one of Felicity's major confidants, but Tommy doesn't really know what Felicity confides in Dig compared to what she confides in him.

But Felicity, like the rest of the world, is aware of the _history_ , and as Tommy very well knows, history can be a very powerful thing. He suspects she talks to him because he is one of the people who was there when it happened, and of the four of them, he's the one with the least emotional attachment to the situation.

"What do you want to know?" Tommy asks, leaning back in the lair's spare desk chair and propping his feet up on one of the tables. Oliver and Dig are in the field, and Felicity has their side of the conversation muted.

She shrugs. "I don't even know what to ask about?"

"Well," Tommy tries, "Something must have happened that made you want to bring it up?"

"I just was thinking," Felicity says. "Sara is… better suited for this."

"Better suited for running the very sophisticated comms system you have got going on here?" He gives her a skeptical look.

"No," Felicity closes her eyes, pressing her fingertips to her temples. "No. I mean—" She gestures to the room around them—the weapons and computers and equipment strewn about the room. "She's better suited to handle _this_. This life. These choices. I'm just…"

He waits for her to find the words she wants.

"I'm shaking in the Count's arms and trying to remember basic self-defence. Which is _ridiculous_ , because I've seen _Miss Congeniality_ like twenty times now and I know the whole SING acronym and everything and I still choked, Tommy. Sara would have hit the guy in the Solar-Plexus-Instep-Nose-Groin without even hesitating."

"You're not Sara," he points out. "And I don't think Oliver expects you to be."

"But I'm also not…" More hand waving. "Dig keeps taking me to the gun range, and Sara's been helping me whenever she can, but I don't feel like I'm picking up what I need to, or that I'm even picking up how to handle myself in those flight or fight situations. I'm not their level of badass."

He hums. "You don't have to go through five years in hell to become a badass, Felicity. And you _are_ one."

"I just…" She shakes her head. "They both walked through something together that I will likely never fully understand. And I don't _need_ to understand it, I really don't. And I'm not _jealous_." She draws in a deep breath and slowly exhales. "I'm just… wondering if they're better for each other because of that. Oliver doesn't worry about losing Sara."

"Excuse me?" Tommy raises an eyebrow. "Like hell he doesn't."

Felicity holds up a finger, taps two keys on her keyboard, then says, "Robbery on Tenth and Spruce. Oliver, you're closest."

Another few taps and her attention is back on Tommy. "What do you mean?"

"I mean just because he goes into battle with her doesn't mean he's not scared she won't come back alive." He lets his feet drop off of the table and scoots his chair closer to Felicity. "Trust me. He worries about all of us. He can't not. But just by being _you_ —by going to the gun range with Dig and sparring with Sara and running all around the town with us at the crack of dawn—you're reassuring him that you're going to do everything in your power to keep yourself safe. I don't think Oliver takes that for granted."

She looks thoughtful. They're sitting facing each other, and Tommy reaches across the space between them to take her hand. "It's Oliver, Felicity. He'd die for any one of us indiscriminately. You know that."

"I _hate_ that."

He gives her a look. "Okay," she relents. "I actually love that about him. Except for the _dying_ part. I'm not fond of that."

"Me neither," Tommy says. "But we're all trying to help him past that. It just takes all of us doing it in our own different ways."

She smiles at him. "You're smart," she says. "I like it."

There's a snappy retort on his lips, but it's at that moment Oliver meets up with his purse-snatcher. The villain flees, and Felicity gets dragged into eye-in-the-sky navigation while he pursues. After the interruption, the conversation moves in another direction, but Tommy doesn't quite stop turning it over in his head as the weeks go by.

Then the Clock King strikes. And Tommy's never seen Felicity so rattled.

It's mostly that he beat her, Tommy concludes. He got into her head and he got into her system. In hindsight, it really shouldn't surprise him that Felicity's response to this is an ill-advised foray into the field. It ends with her taking a bullet in the shoulder for Sara Lance and Tommy watching anxiously as Diggle carries her down the Arrowcave's stairs in his arms.

The three men—Tommy, Oliver, and Dig—turn away while Sara helps patch up Felicity.

Felicity's slurring something about always wanting to take a bullet for someone when Oliver pulls Tommy aside and asks, "I have to finish up here. Can you get her home?"

Silently, Tommy nods. After Sara finishes the stitches on Felicity's shoulder, Tommy waits while Oliver walks over to Felicity. The two exchange a few words. Tommy misses the first part, but he clearly hears Felicity say, "I'm just—you're my guy, you know—and… I'm really glad that you're my guy."

Oliver puts his hand to Felicity's cheek, and she closes her eyes and nods, nuzzling her face against his palm. "Me too," he says, and Tommy can hear the amusement in his voice.

"You'll always be my guy," she tells him, and Tommy's helpless to stop his smile when she starts quietly singing _You're The One That I Want_ from _Grease_. She's _adorable_.

She's adorable, and she makes Oliver happy. It's a winning combination, really. "And you'll always be my girl," he tells her with a quick kiss to her forehead.

Oliver looks back to Tommy with a wink that tells him it's time to swoop in.

Tommy moves to stand beside Felicity. "You ready to go home?" he asks her.

She nods, then looks to Oliver. "Tommy's going to take you," he says. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"C'mon, Felicity." Taking care not to jostle her too much, Tommy helps her to her feet. "Let's go."

Getting her up the stairs is tricky, not because she's in pain, but because she's so _loopy_. She wants to dance suddenly when they're halfway up the steps, and only Tommy's quick thinking is enough to snap an arm around her waist keeps her from falling.

"How many aspirins did Dig give you?" he wonders, scooping her up beneath the knees and carrying her up the stairs the rest of the way.

"Not sure," Felicity says, hiding her face against his chest. "But I feel good."

Her words are slurred. "I'm sure you do," Tommy says.

He runs through a drive through on his way back to Felicity's townhouse to pick up food. He's not sure what she'll even eat, but he's not surprised when she skips past the french fries and goes right for the chocolate shake.

She falls asleep in the car, the styrofoam cup held between her knees. After he pulls the car into her driveway and climbs out, Tommy jogs around to the passenger's side, puts her shake in the center cupholder, and reaches across Felicity's body to unbuckle her seatbelt. She groans softly as he twists her body around, pulls her feet out of the car and carefully tugs her forward. "C'mon, Felicity," he mutters, looping her arms around his neck. "Let's get you inside."

He doesn't quite get the best grip on her, but she wakes up enough to cooperate a little more, tightening her arms around his neck. He changes his goals and manages to carry her up her front steps bridal style, but then he has to set her down again to get her front door unlocked with the keys he'd fished from her purse. She sways on her feet, and he gets the door open as fast as possible, practically dragging her inside.

Getting her upstairs to the bedroom seems impossible, given the circumstances, so Tommy settles for the sofa in her living room. It looks comfy enough. He doesn't really _want_ to help her undress, but there isn't another option, and what she's wearing doesn't look comfortable. Maybe if he just gets her the clothes she'll sober up enough to change on her own?

Tommy runs up the stairs but stops short at the entryway of Felicity's bedroom. He can't make himself go in. But the door to the right appears to lead to a laundry room, and that doesn't feel as much like an invasion of privacy. There's a basket of folded laundry on the floor, and Tommy carefully rifles through it. The best thing he finds is a large tee shirt. It looks like Oliver's. He figures it will work and grabs it.

Downstairs, Felicity is sprawled across the sofa. She's on her back, and Tommy worries that when the oxycodone wears off, she'll wake up in pain because of how she's sleeping.

He perches on the edge of the sofa cushions and gently rubs her good shoulder. "Felicity."

A moan.

"Felicity?"

She stirs a little more, and he helps her roll over. "Tommy?" she slurs.

"Yeah, honey." He catches himself quickly, bites his tongue. He's called her that a few times during their friendship, but always before she started seeing Oliver. "I'm here."

She hums. "Hi."

He smiles at her, and she reaches forward to touch her fingertip to his nose. "You're _here_."

"I am," he says. "Right here."

"I like your nose," she tells him, pressing her palm to his face, letting her fingers spread out. "And your _eyes_. Your whole face, really. It's so _nice_. You have a nice face."

"Thank you," he tells her, maneuvering her hands to the buttons on her shirt in an attempt to get her to undress herself. She does, almost out of habit. Tommy averts his eyes as he helps her pull the shirt down her arms. Once it's off, he drags the shirt over her head—cautious of her injured shoulder—all while she keeps telling him how pretty he is.

"You think I'm pretty," he says, as he coaxes her into lying on her left side, off of her injury. Grabbing a throw pillow, Tommy carefully slides it under her head. She snuggles into it and nods a little.

"Unfairly pretty," she says.

Tommy grabs the blanket resting across the back of the couch and drapes it over Felicity, tucking it around her shoulders. "Goodnight," he whispers.

"Goodnight room," she tells him, eyes closed, halfway asleep already. "Goodnight moon. Goodnight cow jumping over..."

He bends down and kisses her temple, smoothing back her curls. Running a hand through his hair, Tommy checks the Glock at his belt. He does a quick perimeter sweep of Felicity's house, front door, back door, all the windows. When he's finished, he settles into her recliner and braces himself for a long night.

Oliver shows up five hours later, looking dead on his feet. Tommy lets him inside and the two of them re-check the perimeter. When they return to the living room, Oliver kneels beside the couch and brushes back Felicity's hair. "She okay?"

"She's mostly been asleep," Tommy tells him, scrubbing his hands across his face as he sits back down, bracing his hands on his knees. "Everything else has been quiet."

Tenderly, Oliver kisses Felicity's temple. Tommy looks away. "Thank you for staying with her," Oliver says. "I probably shouldn't have asked—"

"I was glad to do it," Tommy says. "Besides, you can't be everywhere at once. You gotta let people help you, Oliver."

Standing up, Oliver moves to the armchair opposite Tommy's, leaning back and kicking his legs up on the ottoman. He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"There's too many of us for you to protect _all_ of us," Tommy tells him. "You have to let us all protect each other."

Oliver gives him a weary look. "I don't like the idea of putting you all in danger."

"You're not the one putting us in danger," Tommy points out. They're approaching the edge of a disagreement they've been having lately. "We all live in this city. We all know what that means. Together we can keep each other safe."

"I still don't want you in the field," Oliver snaps. "I need… I need you untouched by this."

Tommy hooks his fingers in his shirt collar and pulls it to the side, exposing the skin of his shoulder, and the white, puckered scar from the piece of rebar that nearly killed him. "I'm very far from untouched by this, Oliver."

Oliver closes his eyes, tips his head back and sighs. "I _know._ "

Tommy studies him, the exhaustion around his eyes and the tension in his shoulders. He glances back at Felicity, at the way she's taking slow, easy breaths. "She's gonna be out for a while. Why don't you sleep, Oliver? I'll wake you if anything happens."

Tiredly, Oliver nods. "Okay," he says, and Tommy doesn't know how to comprehend that level of trust—not when it's shown towards _him_. "Thank you."

Tommy nods to acknowledge the gratitude. Oliver shoves a throw pillow behind his head, and Tommy notices that he angles himself in the chair so that he's in the best position to see Felicity. It takes only a few minutes for Oliver's eyes to drift shut. In another ten minutes, the rhythm of his breathing has changed, and Tommy feels himself relax, knowing that they're both asleep. That they're both safe.

Picking up one of the technology magazines Felicity keeps stacked between her armchairs, Tommy flips through the pages and watches over his friends as they sleep.


	5. Part One: Chapter Five

**A/N:** There likely won't be an update next week (April 7th), because I'll be out of town. The next update should be April 14th. Thanks in advance for your patience.

* * *

Felicity finds Oliver on the floor of the secondary lair she lets him think she doesn't know about. He's sitting with his back against a concrete pillar. She doesn't touch him, doesn't say anything, just sits down on the floor near him. They're looking in different directions. Felicity sets her hand down next to his leg and waits. It takes a few minutes, but eventually the touch of his hand over hers is steady and sure.

Helplessness beats heavy in Felicity's chest.

"I'm sorry, Oliver." She closes her eyes and lets her head fall back against the concrete behind her. "I'm so sorry."

"I couldn't—" his voice is gravelly. Like he's been screaming. "I couldn't _stop_ him. And she just… She's gone, and it's my fault."

"It's not your fault, Oliver," Felicity says. She wants to reach out for him, wrap her arms around him, but she's not sure how he would respond to that. "You did everything you could."

"It wasn't _enough_ ," he chokes out. "It's never enough. Not to save any of them. I knelt in front of him and I _begged_ him to take my life instead, but he wouldn't. And so my _mother_ saved Thea."

The quietness of the room amplifies Felicity's gasp. If she could, if she had the means and opportunity, she would put a bullet in Slade Wilson without thinking twice.

"I have to face him," Oliver says. "It's the only way to make this stop. Even if it means that I—"

"You have to _stop him_ ," she agrees. "Whatever it takes. Even if what it takes is killing him. There are no _ifs_ or _ands_ or _buts_ Oliver. All he is going to do is keep on killing innocent people."

Oliver is silent.

"Oliver." Felicity moves forward on her hands and knees until she's right in front of him. She tucks her legs beneath her body and sets her hands on his knees. "He killed your _mother_. What is stopping you?"

"I don't want…" He can't look at her, but that doesn't matter. "I don't want you to look at me and see a killer. I don't want my _sister_ to look at me and see that. Not when I said that I was doing this another way."

She cups his cheek with her hand, unbothered by the way he flinches first, then closes his eyes and leans into her touch. The way Oliver responds to tenderness never fails to break her heart. "I watched you kill the Count. You _protected_ me, Oliver. Killing him— _stopping_ him—protected me. If you have to stop Slade by killing him, then you'll be doing what you need to do to protect me, Thea, and all of Starling City. "

Quickly, his eyes open. She can see his doubt and fear and grief clear as day.

"Trust me, Oliver," she whispers. "If you killed Slade Wilson under these circumstances, the only thing I could ever say to you in the face of that is _thank you_. And still, I promise you: If there is another way, I will help you find it."

He leans forward, wrapping an arm around her body and pressing his lips to her forehead. "If we make it out of this alive," he says, his voice rough. "I'm marrying you."

She pulls back, blinking several times in surprise. A blush sweeps over her cheeks. "Aren't you supposed to ask me first?"

"Felicity," Oliver says, pulling back to look in her eyes. "I have no ring. The city is falling into chaos. Neither of us might make it through this alive. But if we do, I want you to marry me."

"Are you sure that's not the grief talking?"

He takes her left hand and kisses her fourth finger, right over her knuckle. "It's not. As soon as this is over, I will get you a ring. I promise."

"We have to finish this first," she says.

"We will," he says. "Is that a yes?."

"Okay," she breathes. "That's a yes." Leaning forward for his kiss is almost instinct by this point. Oliver's hand cups the back of her neck, drawing her closer. Considering how he shies away from any tenderness expressed toward him, the way he kisses her is amazingly gentle.

"You realize," she says. "That in order to marry me, you have to stay _alive_."

His gaze is level. Determined. Easy. Hopeful. He's not as lost as he was a few moments ago. "I will stay alive, I promise."

The sound of the door opening and closing ends the moment.

"Hey," Tommy says, shuffling towards them, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "Funeral's starting soon."

Felicity sits back and watches as Oliver struggles to his feet. He's not hurt, just grieving and exhausted.

"I can't," Oliver says.

"You _can_ ," Tommy tells him. "In fact, you _have_ to. For yourself. For your mother. For Thea."

Oliver shakes his head, and he looks defeated. "No."

"I will be with you the whole time." Tommy reaches for him, steadying him. "So will Felicity. You're not going to go through this alone."

Sensing that his words are a cue, Felicity comes around to Oliver's other side, helping him wrap an arm around her for support. "You can do this, Oliver."

Together, the three of them walk outside into the sunlight.

* * *

After Moira's funeral, as the reception is winding down, Thea comes up to Tommy. She doesn't say anything, just leans the side of her body into his and lets him wrap an arm around her shoulders. He touches his hand to the side of her face, holds her gently as he ducks his head down to kiss her hair.

"You holding up?" he asks.

"I can't stay here," she says quietly, but there's a frantic edge to her words. "I have to go. I have to _leave_."

"Hey," he leans back, makes it a point to look her in the eyes. "This isn't what you want to hear, but now isn't the time to make rash decisions."

"Everything about this city _hurts_ , Tommy. I keep thinking I'm going to see _him_ on every streetcorner. The only reason I'm even still here is because my mom is not. She—"

In his arms, Thea starts shaking. Tommy holds her tighter, glancing over her to where Oliver and Felicity are standing on the other side of the room with one of the last of the lingering guests. Felicity has one hand wrapped around Oliver's, and the other she's using to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief. The sight does something funny to Tommy's heart.

Felicity barely knew Moria, and Tommy was not under the impression that the women were anything other than cordial. It's nice to know she cares enough to cry for Oliver.

"I just can't stay," Thea says again, and Tommy thinks of Slade Wilson threatening her, threatening Moira, thinks of Slade with a sword going for Thea's heart, thinks about how he threatened _all that Oliver loved_.

This man wants to break his best friend, make Oliver _wish_ for death. And given what Oliver's survived, Tommy's not sure how far Slade Wilson will have to go to accomplish that horrible mission, but Tommy can't escape the feeling that it's too far.

Tommy's not going to let him do it. Step one is getting Thea out of Slade's crosshairs.

"Okay," he tells her. "Okay, let's get you out of Starling for a few weeks."

He pulls back, hands on her shoulders, keeping her in his eyeline. "Just until things settle down, though. I don't—"

Sudden emotion threatens to strangle him. "I don't want you gone forever."

Thea wraps her arms around him again, presses her cheek to his chest. "I won't be gone forever."

"You'd better not be," Tommy says.

Oliver and Felicity say goodbye to the gentleman and his wife, and suddenly it strikes Tommy that everyone is essentially gone. He looks around. Thea's next to him, but Laurel, Dig, Oliver and Felicity walk towards the two of them until all six of them are standing in a circle, sharing what Tommy suspects will be their last few moments in this house. Oliver's not living here. Thea won't want to. And the woman who raised her children here will never stand inside these walls again.

"There's something I need to tell you," Oliver says softly, surveying the group gathered around him. "Something I should have trusted you with earlier."

He's clutching Felicity's hand with both of his, and looking right at Thea. "I'm sorry about that. Before I even say it, I'm sorry." Tommy watches Oliver's gaze slip over to Laurel, but her expression doesn't change. She isn't resigned or concerned. She looks… accepting. Like there's nothing Oliver could tell her that would change anything—even though Tommy very deeply doubts that's true.

"I'm the Arrow," Oliver says, and the room goes completely still. Tommy's arm is still loosely around Thea, and he feels the way she tenses.

Laurel moves to Oliver's side, opposite of Felicity. She lays a hand on his shoulder. "I know."

Oliver's face twists in confusion. "How?"

"Slade told me," she says. "I think he was doing it to hurt you."

They share a look, but no verbal communication passes between them.

"Thea?" Oliver says carefully, turning to their sister.

"Is that why?" She asks quietly, voice full of anguish. "Did mom die because you're the Arrow?"

She may as well have stabbed Oliver through the heart, Tommy thinks, but she's likely ignorant of that fact.

"No," Oliver says in what barely qualifies as a whisper. "No. This was before. This was because of what happened on the island."

"What happened?" Thea asks, pushing out of Tommy's arms and taking two determined steps in Oliver's direction. "What _happened_ on that island?"

"A man," Oliver begins slowly. "Wanted information. He put Sara and another woman—Shado—on their knees and he—"

Felicity turns so she's facing away from the group, one hand still in Oliver's, the other on his shoulder. She rests her forehead against him. Tommy's struck with the realization that she's _heard_ this story.

"He told me to choose," Oliver says brokenly. "He told me to pick which one I wanted to die, and the only person I wanted to die was _me_."

"I'm sorry," Laruel says quietly. "I'm sorry he asked that of you, Oliver."

Oliver clears his throat, blinks a few times. "He shot Shado," he says. "He took away what Slade—the man who killed…"

His voice breaks. "The man who killed Mom. He took away what Slade loved. Now Slade wants to take away everyone I love… which is essentially everyone in this room."

He looks around the circle. Oliver's eyes find Tommy first, then Dig, Laurel, Thea. "He's not getting to any of you without a fight."

"We have to be smart about this," Felicity says. "We have to take him down. We have to protect each other. He can't get to us if we all have each other's backs."

"I'm leaving Starling City," Thea says suddenly, bluntly. "I'm getting out of here."

Oliver meets Tommy's eyes. "As much as I hate to say it, Speedy, that's a good idea."

"I'll make sure she's safe," Tommy says. "I _will_ , Oliver."

He nods. "I know you will."

"And the rest of us?" Laurel asks.

"We need a battle plan," Felicity says, crossing her arms. "And we're going to get one."

They split apart after that. Oliver, Felicity, Laurel and Dig leave for the Arrowcave while Tommy helps Thea pack up her things. Felicity keeps him updated with brief texts.

 **Felicity Smoak:** Blood working with Slade Wilson. Laurel has proof.

 **Felicity Smoak:** Oliver going to confront Blood.

 **Felicity Smoak:** Blood's bodyguard gave up intel on Wilson's operation.

Tommy gets the last text as he stands with Thea in the darkness of the Queen's foyer, listening as she tearfully says goodbye to Walter over the phone.

He types back a quick message.

 **Tommy Merlyn:** Be careful.

There's no reply from Felicity.

Thea slides her phone into her jacket pocket; Tommy puts a hand on her shoulder. "You ready to go?"

"I'm never coming back here," she says. "It feels odd that I'm relieved about that."

"A lot happened here," Tommy says. "A lot of good and a lot of bad. It makes sense."

She nods, slowly. "All right. Let's go."

As soon as Tommy leaves Thea at the train station, everything spins wildly out of control. Slade's army descends on the city. There's no way for him to get back to Oliver, or Felicity, or Laurel, or anybody. He's nowhere near the lair, but he _is_ a block away from the storage compartment where he threw all of Malcolm's things after the Undertaking.

Tommy hasn't spent five years in purgatory, like Oliver or Sara, but he _has_ pushed his body until every muscle aches. He has taken a deadly weapon in his hands, aimed it at another human being, and…

He hadn't pulled the trigger when he'd looked at his father. He couldn't do it. Even realizing what Malcolm was, how much Malcolm hated—the Glade's, Tommy, even Tommy's mother—Tommy couldn't pull that trigger.

But these men are not his father. These men will kill him. Almost more importantly: These men will kill _Thea_.

Or Felicity, or Oliver, or Sara, or Laurel… and Tommy can't let that happen. He won't.

He is not Oliver. He is not a _warrior_.

Yet this Tommy knows: He may not be like Oliver in the sense that they are not both warriors, but Tommy lived through rebar through the chest and a deadly earthquake. He kept moving despite his father's hatred and his mother's death. He kept _breathing_ even after losing Oliver. He _survived._ And in that way he and Oliver are exactly the same.

Moving quickly, Tommy rummages through his father's weapons until he's found a crossbow. He's used one before. Never in actual combat, but he feels confident that he'll be able to hit what he's aiming at.

In the box beneath it is the Dark Archer suit his father wore. It's lined with kevlar.

He hesitates, not sure he can put it on. But Starling City is _burning_. There are monsters out there. Monsters with strength that rivals _Oliver's_ , much less his own.

Is he willing to literally take on his father's legacy just to _live_? Tommy's not sure.

And then Thea sends him a text that just says: **911**.

There's no more time to think. He takes what he needs and pulls on his father's mask and goes to get his sister. Malcolm's legacy isn't worth touching just for his own life, but it's no longer just his life. It's _Thea's_.

The train station is a madhouse when he arrives. Men in masks are tearing the place apart. Tommy helps a woman and her young daughter get away from two of them and is forced into combat with a few more before he finds Thea.

He's not a fighter. His moves are inelegant and less-than-effective. It's dirty fighting, teeth and nails and creative weaponry.

Then he catches a glimpse of Thea's dark red jacket, and he shoves an arrow into the stomach of one of Wilson's goons. As he makes his way towards Thea at a run, he sees her dash for the double doors that lead outside, watches as she tugs on the handles only to find that she's been locked inside. One of Slade's men grabs her shoulders, drags her back, and even though he's still uncomfortably far away, Tommy raises his father's crossbow and fires.

The man—the monster?—yanks the arrow out of his side and stares first at it, then at _him_.

"Who are you?" He asks, right as Tommy flicks a button on his bow that causes the arrow to explode in the man's face.

Thea's backing away, alarmed, afraid. He rips his mask off and runs for Thea with a low, threatening, "I'm her brother."

* * *

Starling City burns. Oliver stares out of the widows of his former office at QC and watches the smoke and flames. Even with Nyssa and the League members, even with Sara and Diggle and Lyla and recently cured Roy, Oliver isn't sure they'll actually be able to turn the tide.

He's not sure he can keep the people he cares about safe. He's not sure he can keep _Felicity_ safe.

"Tommy called," Felicity tells Oliver, putting a hand on his shoulder that does little to settle the storm raging inside him. "There was a disturbance at the train station. He got Thea out. I told him to meet up with us here. They're a few minutes out. Laurel and Quentin are on their way. He says the police station isn't safe anymore."

Oliver nods. He can't bear to look at her. "I should have made you go too. You're a target, and right now this entire city is in Slade's crosshairs."

"Do you remember what I told you?" Felicity asks, dropping her hand from his shoulder and threading her fingers through his. "The last time this city was under siege and you wanted me to leave?"

He's quiet; he remembers.

"If you're not leaving, I'm not leaving," she repeats. "It's still true. I'm not going anywhere without you. We will get through this, Oliver. All of us. _Alive._ "

He reaches for her, and this hug is reminiscent of their embrace at the clock tower, where he clung to her out of desperation for reassurance and hope, but also gratefulness for _her_ and for her presence in his life. She tucks her head under his chin and says, "We just have to find another way."

"I can't outthink him," Oliver tells her, because he _can't_. It's not in his wheelhouse. Slade knows him too well. This is not an enemy he can deceive because he's just "Oliver Queen" and nobody expects much from him.

Slade Wilson helped _train_ him.

In his arms, Felicity pulls back, looks him right in the eye, and says, "You don't have to. Let him outthink you." Off of what must be the puzzled expression on his face, she continues, "His brain's got nothing on _mine_."

A few minutes later, Tommy arrives decked out from head to toe in Malcolm's Dark Archer garb, and the only reason Oliver suspects no one—mainly Sara and Nyssa—doesn't shoot him on sight is the fact that his gloved hand is wrapped around Thea's.

But that's not how Oliver recognizes him. Oliver fought Malcolm in the suit, knows how the clothes fit the man. And the way the man with Thea walks, the way he carries himself, Oliver _knows_ that walk, knows that body.

They've just barely stepped inside the room when Thea drops Tommy's hand and goes running for Roy.

As she plows into him, Harper lifts her right off of her feet. His eyes are closed and Oliver can see the pain in his face, but that doesn't make him let go of Thea. "Sin told me," Thea says when Roy sets her down. "About the drug. Tommy filled me in on the rest. Are you okay?"

Roy pointed looks at Oliver. "Yeah. I'm okay."

"What the hell are you wearing?" Sara asks Tommy, eyeing him up-and-down.

"Armor," Tommy says, without missing a beat. When he takes the mask off, Oliver sees tiredness in his eyes. He wonders just what Tommy has done tonight to keep their sister safe. To get her here.

Oliver knows what he would do.

"Armor that does not belong to you," Nyssa says sourly.

"If anyone is dishonoring the _good name_ of the League," Tommy tells her, taking a menacing step in her direction, "I'm fairly certain it was the man who plotted to destroy half this city while wearing this armor."

They stare at each other for a moment, but then Nyssa is the one who lets the tension drop from the air. "That is not a man whose mantle I would voluntarily choose to lay across my shoulders."

"And I wouldn't want to be the Heir to the Demon, but none of us choose our fathers," Tommy says.

"We shall leave this indiscretion here, then." Nyssa turns from Tommy to the larger group assembling. "We have battle plans to draw."

When Quentin and Laurel arrive, Felicity fills the four newcomers in. "We know Slade's men will be in Giordano Tunnel. Oliver and Diggle got the Mirakuru cure back from Sebastian Blood."

"Where is Diggle?" Tommy asks.

"He and Lyla went to ARGUS," Oliver answers. "To try and stop her from leveling Starling."

Tommy lets out a low whistle. No one else quite knows what to say to that.

It's Nyssa who gets back to business. "Fortunately, with Slade's men attempting to leave via the tunnel, all of our targets will be in a single place."

Sara says, "That means we can take them all out at once—non-lethal. Hit 'em with the cure and knock them down."

"We'll lose Slade," Felicity says. "He'll slip away or he won't be there at all, but either way, we'll lose the opportunity to get him if we don't add a second part to the plan."

"What are you suggesting?" Quentin asks gruffly.

"He wants to kill the woman Oliver loves," Felicity says simply, and the words are a shock to Oliver's system, like a bucket of ice water crashing over his head and slithering down his spine. "That means he's coming for _me_. Or possibly Thea, but he's already had the opportunity to kill her once and he let her go."

And just like that, Oliver knows exactly what she's suggesting.

"I don't like it," Oliver says. "I don't like putting you in that position."

"You're not putting me in any position. I'm volunteering."

"What's to stop him from just killing you on the spot?" Tommy asks.

"He won't," Felicity says firmly. "He'll wait. He wants to make sure Oliver watches."

A flash of his mother's death invades Oliver's brain so quickly it robs him of his ability to breathe. He can feel the damp ground beneath his knees, the tightness of the zip tie around his wrists, the wet sting of tears in his eyes.

A cool sweat breaks out on the back of his neck, across his shoulders. He can feel hands on his face, gentle fingers caressing his skin; he can hear Felicity's voice saying his name, but it's far away. All he can see is Felicity, just as she was a few moments ago, hair falling out of her ponytail, traces of blood on her face, bruises forming on her forehead.

He can see the way her body jolts when Slade runs the sword through her heart. He can see the shock and pain in her eyes as she falls to the ground.

He can't watch that. He can't _ever_ watch that.

It'll kill him.

He comes back to the present slowly. Felicity's standing in front of him, her hands against his neck. Either no one is reacting to his momentary surge of fear and grief, or no one knows how to.

"I can do this, Oliver," Felicity tells him. "I can."

"I know you can," he says quietly. "I just don't want you to."

"I'm not a huge fan of the idea either," she says, "But it's our best play."

And because she's right, because she's brilliant and beautiful and brave, and he wants to marry her for _all_ of those things, Oliver says, "You're right."

"Now," Sara says, looking at Tommy, Laurel and Thea. "What about you three?"

"I can fire a bow," Thea says.

Tommy and Oliver look at each other, panicked and horrified. "It's my city too," Thea says. "That means I get to protect it if I want."

"I don't want _any_ of you in the tunnel," Oliver tells them. "All of Slade's men are there, so the rest of the city should be relatively safe if you're smart."

"You don't get to make that call," Tommy takes a step in Oliver's direction.

"If I _don't_ make that call, you're out in the middle of a battle with super-soldiers, and so is _Thea_. Slade has Felicity right where he wants her and everything..." He swallows thickly. "Everything could go sideways on a dime, and I can't—"

It takes him a moment, but the room gives it to him. "I can't protect all of you."

"You don't have to, Oliver." It's Thea, right next to Felicity, her hand on his shoulder. "You just have to trust us to protect each other."

He's not sure if he can do that.

"If I could make a suggestion," Quentin says. "Someone needs to stand patrol on the Starling entrance to the tunnel. Make sure none of Slade's men escape back into the city."

"It'll still be dangerous," Sara adds, "but we do need bodies there."

And because it's Sara saying it, because it's Sara's sister and Tommy's sister that they're talking about and they're both nervous but willing to go along with it, Oliver agrees.

Roy looks at Thea. "Let's get you a bow."

"Come with me," Sara tells Laurel, reaching for her hand. "I have a spare mask."

* * *

Oliver Queen tells Felicity Smoak he loves her, and the next words out of her mouth are: "Then don't leave me here."

But then he's pushing the Mirakuru cure into her hand, and she's wrapping her fingers tightly around the syringe. To mask the movement, he bends to kiss her. It's simple, but it's not quick. His lips linger against hers. She drops the cure into her pocket and reaches forward to hold onto his arm, her fingers digging into the leather of the suit.

She's scared. She's also brave. And those two things can exist inside her at the same time.

She's expecting, once the kiss is done, for Oliver to give her one last look and back away. Instead he grabs her left hand. She's not sure where he was keeping the ring he slides onto the appropriate finger.

"Oliver," she whispers, staring at the glittering diamond.

"I meant what I said," he tells her. "Every word."

She nods, stunned. And because it just might be the last chance she gets to say it, she tells him, "I love you."

The look he gives her in response turns her legs into jelly. She longs for better circumstances. Different circumstances. _Time_.

They'll have time, she promises herself. As soon as this night is over. They'll have all the time they want. They just have to get through tonight.

Oliver leaves, and it doesn't take Slade long to find her. She never doubted that it would.

She levels her Glock at Slade's chest and empties the magazine. Her aim is good, but her assailant doesn't go down. Instead he twists the gun from her grip—and oh, _god_ , her wrist, her wrist is on _fire_ , pain spiking up her arm and she screams as he throws her to the ground. She's terrified that he'll find the cure on her, but Slade misjudges her the same way he misunderstands Oliver.

From then on, all it takes is waiting for the right moment. When it arrives, it reminds Felicity of her encounter with the Count in all the worst ways. It's a sword at her neck instead of a needle; it's Oliver hesitating to put his bow down, yet ultimately relenting.

The main difference is that she holds the power now. Her thumb flicks open the cap of the cure, she grips the tube in her hands, visualizing how to throw her arm back, where to stab Slade when she strikes. Her palms sweat, her heart races, and her wrist still hurts like _hell_ , but _everything—_ her survival, Oliver's survival—depends on her being able to do this right.

She cannot fail Oliver.

And she doesn't.

In the aftermath, she sits on a table in the still-ransacked lair while Diggle presses an ice pack to her wrist. If he notices the ring on her finger, he doesn't mention it. Felicity glances around the room. Most of the debris has been swept up, furniture righted. She's still mourning the loss of her computer system, the broken monitors and equipment scattered across the floor.

Oliver and Laurel are quietly talking in one corner; Tommy and Sara are sitting on the training mats. Roy and Thea are over by the row of suits. She can hear snippts of conversation: Laurel telling Oliver that it felt good to _do_ something, Sara telling Tommy he did well out there, Roy telling Thea that red is a good color on her.

For the first time Felicity can remember, she feels surrounded by family. It's a little overwhelming, in a unbelievably lovely sort of way.

She's the last one being patched up, and her injury prevented her from being able to effectively help anyone else.

"Pretty sure it's just a sprain," Diggle tells her once he's finished.

"Could have been worse," Felicity says.

"You don't have to tell me. Glad it wasn't though." He pats her shoulder and smiles down at her warmly. "You did good today."

She gives him a smile. "Thanks."

Oliver walks over to them. The way he carries himself telegraphs his uncertainty and nervousness. They haven't had much of a chance to process anything over the past few days. Right now all Felicity wants to do is sleep.

Preferably with Oliver next to her. A good eight hours, at least. Maybe a few extra. They did just save the city.

Dig steps away as Oliver approaches, and he gives Felicity a look that makes her certain he did in fact catch the very telling ring on her finger.

"Where'd you find the ring?" Felicity asks Oliver quietly. "I'm pretty sure you didn't have time to go shopping."

"It was my mother's," he tells her, his voice wavering a bit on the last word. "I'll get you a different one, if you want. I just—" He licks his lips, shifts on his feet. "If anything were to happen to you, I wanted it with you."

Carefully, Felicity slides off of the table and onto her feet. Oliver grabs her elbows to help steady her. "Well," she says, "I can say that while Slade had me, there was something really nice about looking down and seeing it."

It was proof they were real. Solid, physical, heavy on her finger.

Oliver Queen loves her. Oliver Queen wants her to be his _wife_.

The thought is thrilling.

"Come home with me," Felicity says, very, very quietly. Roy has impressive hearing. She'd rather him not hear this. With her good hand, she laces her fingers through Oliver's. She knows him. Even though they're practically living together, he'll sleep down here despite the broken lights and mess on the floor. She doesn't want that tonight.

They climb onto his motorcycle, and she slides her hands into the pockets of his brown leather jacket, pressing her body up against his. The ride home is a blur. Her body is too tired and her brain is too busy to process most of it.

Felicity remembers removing her glasses, kicking off her shoes and unsnapping her bra. After that, Oliver guides her into the bathroom and undresses her himself, his hands quickly removing her shirt and helping her pull off her jeans. He's incredibly careful as he looses her hair from its ponytail, sliding his fingers through the tresses and massaging her scalp. She closes her eyes and holds back the tiniest of moans.

Leaning into the shower, Oliver starts the water running with a turn of his wrist. He yanks off his shirt and shucks off his pants, kicking both pieces of clothing over into the pile quickly accumulating in the corner.

The water is hot and perfect against all her aches and pains. She's so utterly exhausted, but Oliver's right there to hold her up. She rests her forehead against his chest and lets him lather shampoo through her hair.

Together, they scrub away the dirt and the grime. They're both dead on their feet, but they stand under the soothing spray until the water turns cold. When Oliver finally shuts it off, he wraps Felicity up in a towel, helps her dry off with slow, easy movements.

He doesn't laugh when she ties an old t-shirt around her head to keep her curls at bay throughout the night. Once that's done, she falls onto her bed completely naked. Oliver collapses beside her. He's stripped down to his boxers, and he's all solid and warm as he presses up behind her, his breath against her neck and his arms wrapped around her.

It doesn't take long for her to drift off to sleep.

When she does, she dreams that the cure didn't work. She dreams that Slade slit her throat. She dreams of putting her hands to her neck, feeling blood gush through her fingers while he makes her watch as he drives his sword through Oliver's chest.

She wakes up mid-scream.

Oliver's lightly shaking her shoulders, saying her name in a pleading, worried tone. Everything feels horribly wrong for a moment, like she's not in her own skin. But then reality settles in. She's in her room. She's safe. Oliver's here.

Closing her eyes, she rolls over in Oliver's arms, reaching out for him, whispering his name. She hears him murmuring in her ear, gentle words of reassurance.

Oliver's right here. He's with her. He's not gone. There is no sword plunged through his chest.

She holds him tightly, not wanting to let him go.

It was just a dream, she tells herself, as she feels Oliver kiss her temple. Just a dream. Just a nightmare.


	6. Part One: Chapter Six

Thunderstorms split the sky the day of Oliver Queen's wedding. He wakes up sprawled across the spare full-size bed in Tommy's hotel room. He rolls off of the mattress, tugs on one leg of his jeans and then the other. When he draws back the curtains, the sky is dark grey, lit up every once in awhile by flashes of lightning. Raindrops pelt against the windows.

Oliver glances behind him at the opposite bed. Tommy did a faceplant there sometime late last night, and it doesn't look like he's moved since. The rest of the room is perfectly ordinary, nothing amiss or different from the night before.

The sudden rapid-fire knocks on the hotel room door make Oliver finch. His heartbeat jumps into a quicker tempo; his eyes quickly scan the room for any kind of weapon as he creeps towards the door.

"Tommy," a female voice yells from behind the door. "It's _noon_. The wedding is at _four_."

Thea.

Oliver moves aside the ironing board—previously propped against the door so that if anyone made it inside they couldn't do so without creating a ton of noise in the process—unlatches the deadbolt and twists open the door handle. "Hey, Speedy."

"Oh good," she says. "You're awake."

"Tommy's not," Oliver says, as another crack of thunder makes him close his eyes and suck in a deep breath. He tightens his fingers around the metal of the door handle, feels how smooth and solid it is. He's _here_. Not on the island. Not drowning in a Yacht. _Here_.

"We can fix that." Thea pushes past Oliver into the room. She _jumps_ on the bed, landing on her knees and Oliver has flashbacks to when she was little and would run into his bedroom and do the same thing on Christmas mornings. Always his, never their parents. They'd sneak downstairs and he'd make hot chocolate and they'd guess at the presents under the tree.

Thea shakes Tommy's shoulder, and he moans. "I'm _up_."

"Oliver's getting married," she whispers loudly in his ear. "Oliver's getting _married_."

Tommy gently swats at her. "I think I can take it from here," Oliver tells Thea.

She points a finger at him, then at Tommy. "Showers. Both of you. Then tuxes. Picture are at three on the _dot_. Don't be late."

Oliver and Tommy don't talk much as they get ready. Maybe they got it all out the night before, over drinks and laughter and barbeque wings.

Once the tuxes are on and they have a few minutes to kill before pictures, Oliver takes a black velvet box from inside his suitcase and sets it carefully in Tommy's outstretched palm. "Don't—" Oliver starts.

"I'm not gonna lose it," Tommy promises, lifting the lid to peek inside at Felicity's wedding band. "This is beautiful."

Oliver smiles. The happiness inside him feels strange, but he's not going to dedicate any time today to questioning or second guessing it. "I never thought we'd be here."

"Neither did I," Tommy says, "But for different reasons."

The Gambit. _Lian Yu_. Oliver thinks their reasons are _almost_ the same. They both thought he wasn't coming home.

"I never told you about Hong Kong," Oliver says, suddenly fighting to keep emotion out of his voice. He's not sure why this part of his past feels _open_ to him now. Maybe it's this realization of how heartbroken Tommy was when he thought they wouldn't have this moment. Maybe it's this realization of how glad he is right now that he gets this moment with Tommy. Maybe it's just the realization that the inner circle of his heart holds only a few people, and Tommy is one of them.

And there are things, important things, that Tommy doesn't know.

Tommy's face goes pale. "Hong Kong?"

Oliver nods. "Hong Kong. I wasn't on the island for five years. Not for all of them. You got— You were so close, and they would have killed you." He looks Tommy right in the eyes. "I couldn't let that happen."

"You—" Tommy's voice breaks. "You knew I stopped looking."

Oliver's heart spirals frantically downward in his chest. "No. I knew you _kept_ looking. I made you think I was dead. _I did_." He plants his fist against his breastbone. "That was _me_. And I know you didn't deserve that, but I did it to keep you alive."

Shocked, Tommy shakes his head, his gaze falling to the floor. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"I don't want secrets today," Oliver tells him. "Not between you and me. The truth is, I think knowing that you looked for me for so long is part of what kept me alive. And I've never thanked you for that."

Neither of them acknowledge the tears in their eyes.

"You don't owe me thanks," Tommy tells him.

"I think I do," Oliver says. "For more than just that."

In one quick movement, Tommy grabs him close in a hug. Oliver closes his eyes, holds on tightly. "I'm glad you came back." Tommy clears his throat roughly.

As they back away, Tommy says, "Thea's gonna be up here any second to drag us downstairs to do photographs. We should get going."

It strikes Oliver as sort of funny that thanks to wedding photographers, brides are willing to ignore the tradition of the groom not seeing them in the dress until the actual wedding. But whether walking down an aisle or just standing next to her mother and future sister-in-law having a calm conversation, Felicity Smoak in a wedding gown steals all of Oliver's breath away.

As if she senses him there, Felicity turns away from the group the second he steps into the room. Her veil is long and fluttery around her shoulders, and she adjusts it a little as she walks toward him, careful of every step.

Oliver meets her halfway, and for a few moments, all they do is stare at each other. Felicity takes his hand, her fingers loosely wrapped around his. "Hi," she says softly.

"Hey," he tells her.

Thunder booms overhead; a camera shutter clicks.

And for as long as he lives, that's Oliver's favorite picture of their wedding day.

An hour later, Donna Smoak takes her daughter's arm and ushers her down the aisle. She pats Oliver Queen's hand and presses a kiss to his cheek, and Oliver fights a sudden surge of emotion.

Oliver and Felicity stand across from each other in front of the officiant. Felicity's hair is down and curly, swept over her left shoulder with dozens of pearl hair pins. Her wedding dress is full-length and figure-hugging. It glitters and shines, but nothing shines brighter than Felicity's smile.

Thea stands beside Felicity, and Tommy stands by Oliver. Donna, Roy, Diggle and a now-showing Lyla are in the front row. Sara Lance—whose recent return from the League of Assassins for the occasion was a total surprise—is right next to Laurel Lance. The rows behind them fill with acquaintances and coworkers that blur together.

Neither of Oliver's parents are there, and he can feel their absence keenly. It doesn't ruin the day. It's just another part of it. He suspects that Felicity feels similarly about her father.

The diamond ring feels heavy in Oliver's hands as Tommy hands it to him. Felicity's left hand is shaking just a little as she holds it out for him. Oliver steadies it in one of his own, lifting her fourth finger and sliding the wedding band over her knuckles.

Then it's Felicity's turn. She holds his gold ring in her fingers and slides it on carefully. Oliver can't take his eyes off of their hands, off of the ring on hers and the ring now on his and the sight of how _perfect_ they look like that.

The exchanging of the rings is one of the last events in the ceremony. Oliver almost misses the officiant announcing them as Mr and Mrs Queen.

He doesn't miss the all-important "You may kiss the bride," because he's been waiting to kiss her —really kiss her, not just the quick pecks on the lips they'd allowed themselves for the photographs—since he saw her in her dress.

Oliver puts his hands on her waist; Felicity presses her fingertips to his cheeks. He kisses her eagerly, every part of him filled with unspeakable joy. The cheers from the crowd echo in his ears.

Their first dance is hardly an elaborate thing. Oliver's good at the standing and swaying part. He's good at wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. He's good at the occasional kiss and their own soft, private conversation. It's a wonderful little bubble.

There is no mention of a father and daughter dance or a mother and son dance, and that is by design. Instead, Donna comes over and takes his hand, laughing loudly and smiling widely as she drags him onto the dance floor.

"You made my baby girl happy," she tells him, with tears in her eyes. "And I am so grateful for that."

He opens his mouth to say something, but Donna continues, "I'm sorry your mom couldn't be here. Your dad too."

The pain from that loss that he's been fighting with all day goes from a dull throb in his chest to a sharp ache. Even as Oliver finds himself disconnecting, looking past Donna at the room around him, something about her acknowledgement of what he's been feeling starts to slowly ease the pain he's carrying.

"Thank you," he manages, his voice thick. "Thank you."

She pats his shoulder gently. "You're welcome, sweetheart."Standing by the dessert table with a flute of champagne in her hand, Felicity watches as Oliver dances with her mother. Donna's mother-of-the-bride dress is a dark purple, and Felicity remembers the trial of shopping for it, how none of the typical dresses would do because "My baby might only get married once in her lifetime and like hell am I not dressing for the occasion."

* * *

Standing by the dessert table with a flute of champagne in her hand, Felicity watches as Oliver dances with her mother. Donna's mother-of-the-bride dress is a dark purple, and Felicity remembers the trial of shopping for it, how none of the typical dresses would do because "My baby might only get married once in her lifetime and like hell am I not dressing for the occasion."

It was a good day with her mom, and Felicity only has so many of those to hold onto throughout her life. Something about her mother just jumping in and loving Oliver from the start has smoothed things over tremendously too. Felicity's never met her mother's mother because the woman died before Felicity was born, but she wonders if it's that loss that's brought out the compassion in Donna's heart toward Oliver, caused her to see him as a boy who lost his mom and not as The Former Playboy Castaway Oliver Queen.

Across the room by the bar, Thea and Roy are standing closer than Felicity has seen them since the night Slade's men attacked Starling. Thea hasn't been quiet about the fact that she wants to leave—and that she wants Roy to come with her. Meanwhile, Roy hasn't been quiet about the fact that he doesn't want to leave.

But they seem to have set aside their issues for the night, because Felicity _thinks_ she sees Roy's hand settle on top of Thea's on the bar counter.

A gentle hand on her shoulder distracts Felicity from her musings. Tommy stands next to her, his tie loose around his neck, and his hair a bit disheveled. "C'mon," he says, with a tilt of his head. "Dance with me."

She doesn't even hesitate, taking his offered hand and following him out onto the dance floor. He keeps a respectable distance between them, his hand on her hip and her hand in his.

"I haven't seen him this happy in a _long_ time," Tommy confesses, with a glance over at Oliver. "I can't thank you enough for that."

"I haven't been this happy in a long time either," Felicity says. "I can't believe we got here."

"I'm so glad you did," he tells her, giving her a quick smile.

They dance silently for the rest of the song, but her eyes never stray from his, and he doesn't look away either.

There are many reasons Felicity is thankful for Tommy Merlyn. That he is a friend to Oliver. That he is an older brother to Thea. That he's… that he's a friend to _her_. The good kind. The oh-shit-how-did-I-ever-get-by-without-you kind. And that friendship with her has only a little to do with his friendship with Oliver. They are two distinct things, and they're both wonderful.

Love isn't a thing Felicity hands out easily. She's ever-cautious with it. She's constantly careful that she doesn't accidently start loving someone who will only end up leaving her. And Tommy, well, Tommy has only ever validated her trust in him, treated it like it was precious, like he didn't deserve it but was going to do his damndest to keep it anyway.

And Felicity loves him for that.

Staring up at him, struck by how easily he takes the lead, how the music flows around them, Felicity is overwhelmed with gratitude that she gets this moment. A three-minute dance that silently acknowledges and celebrates the importance of Tommy Merlyn in her life.

When the dance ends, Tommy leans forward and presses his lips to her forehead. Felicity puts her hands on his arms and they linger like that. "Thank you for the dance," she tells him.

"You're the bride," he says, and she can hear his joy for her in the last word. "I should be thanking you."

It's after the next song that the DJ announces they'll be throwing the bouquet and the garter. Felicity screws her eyes shut and carefully tosses the bundle of flowers over her shoulder.

Laurel catches it, and Felicity almost wishes she'd seen the look on the woman's face when the bouquet sailed right to her. The photographer hurries to get a picture of Laurel and Felicity, and then Felicity's ushered to a chair while Oliver slides his hands under her dress to remove the garter.

This time, Felicity gets to watch the little bit of lace fly through the air, and her jaw drops a little as Tommy's hand flies up to catch it. He looks just as stunned as she feels.

They get pictures of him and Oliver, both grinning like schoolboys, and then Laurel and Tommy stand side-by-side for another photo op. Felicity can't help but look at them and wonder. Laurel's been quiet about her relationship with Ted for a few months now and he's not with them today, but surely Tommy would have said something to Felicity if he and Laurel were making another go at it.

Surely they wouldn't be carefully stepping around each other like they are right now if that were the case?

By the time they get to the toasts, Felicity's feet hurt. She's been awake and running around since early in the morning, and even though excitement and adrenaline has done a lot to keep her moving, her body is beginning to protest just a little. Thea is the one who suggested changing into ballet flats after the ceremony, and Felicity's eternally grateful for that suggestion.

She sits very carefully in Oliver's lap as Tommy raises a champagne flute and tells stories about the two of them in their youth, things that have nothing to do with what the tabloids would expect. These two men did not just party together. They weren't casual acquaintances.

They were the kind of friends who would die for each other.

Leaning a little more on Oliver, Felicity drops her head to her husband's shoulder, keeping her eyes on Tommy, smiling at him as he smiles at the two of them.

Raising his glass, Tommy says, "To the happy couple," and everyone drinks.

Oliver's hand slides up her thigh. "You have one last dance in you?" he asks.

Pressing her palm to his cheek, Felicity draws Oliver in for a kiss. "I think so," she tells him.

The cake has been cut, the toasts have been made, the bouquet has been thrown, the garter tossed, and the bride and groom take to the dance floor one last time. Closing her eyes, Felicity lays her cheek on Oliver's chest, and sways in time with him.

It's John Diggle who approaches them as the song ends. Felicity doesn't catch what he says, but he whispers something close to Oliver's ear.

Oliver gives her a look. It's agonized and regretful, and suddenly Felicity knows exactly what's going on.

"Let's leave properly so there are no questions," she tells Oliver. So they exit the ballroom with the cheers and clapping of the guests following them, but they don't go upstairs to their honeymoon suite. They climb into Diggle's car and drive to the lair.

For three more hours, Felicity sits in her wedding dress at her workstation, manning the comms and rerouting satellites and breaking into security systems all over Starling while the Arrow chases down bad guys.

Four hours after leaving the hotel, Felicity collapses onto the twin bed she bought Oliver for anytime it would be too unsafe for him to come home. After only a few minutes, she hears the lock at the top of the stairs disengage; she hears Oliver's voice saying her name and his footsteps coming down toward her.

Sitting up, Felicity watches as Oliver removes his mask and unzips his jacket. Every moment displays his exhaustion. He runs his hand through her now-messy curls. "I'm sorry," he tells her.

She takes his hand. "I knew what I was signing up for."

He climbs into bed with her, and she falls against his chest, struck, in her tiredness, by the contrast of her white dress and his green leathers. She's not totally comfortable—he probably isn't either—but she's so tired, she doesn't have the energy to move. Not when Oliver's hand is against her back, and she can feel his chest rising and falling underneath her. Not when she can look down and see her wedding ring glittering on her fourth finger.

They _do_ make it to the honeymoon suite. They sneak in the next morning, after about six hours of sleep. Felicity closes the door behind her and shoves Oliver against it, kissing him desperately and thinking out loud about how she didn't get to take off his suspenders and what a shame that was.

He did get to help her out of her dress, but that was more necessity than foreplay. She was unable to get the zipper all the way down without assistance. It's not like he didn't get distracted. She's pretty sure there's a hickey on the small of her back that wasn't there before, and it was only her firm "no sex in the lair" rule that kept Oliver focused enough to get them back to the hotel.

Now, Felicity fists her hands in his shirt and drags him down the hallway towards the bed. He lets her, because she's found that he secretly loves to be pushed around a bit if she's the one doing it. And oh, _fuck_ , when he's bossy with her intentionally in order to get her to push back, the end result is _amazing_.

She pushes him down onto the bed and climbs onto his lap. They haven't been quick and frantic in a while, and Felicity likes it, likes pressing Oliver down onto the mattress with the palms of her hands and undoing the buttons of his shirt. She likes watching him force himself to stay still while she kisses all over his chest and slides a hand beneath the waistband of his pants.

Neither of them are gentle when it comes to getting clothes _off_. Everything after that is a blur of hard and fast and _bruising_. Felicity bites at Oliver's shoulder and then soothes the area with kisses. She begs for more, begs for release, thrills at the harshness of Oliver's breath and the way he whines and grunts as they move together.

After, they both flop down onto the mattress, sweaty and panting. Felicity closes her eyes and blindly reaches for Oliver's hand. She draws it to her lips, kisses his ring finger. Her body is still buzzing.

"That was _incredible_ ," she tells him. She'd always expected Oliver's reaction to praise to be smugness, self-assurance. Of course it was incredible, what else would it be?

But throughout their relationship, that hasn't been the case. Oh, she's detected a distinct amount of pride when he's worked her up so well and so thoroughly that she's a desperate mess, but when she _tells_ him, when she puts into words how he makes her feel, what being with him is _like_ …

It's not pride. It's deep satisfaction colored with the sweetest reverence. And the fact that she's someone Oliver Queen so _adores_ is not something Felicity takes for granted.

Oliver rolls over so he's on his side, looking down at her. With his free hand, he draws patterns on her stomach, her thighs.

She almost protests when his hand dips lower, almost closes her legs and tells him it's too soon, too much. But he covers her mouth with a long, deep kiss. Then he's touching her so slowly, so carefully, that it's not long before she's gripping the sheets beneath her, begging him to give her more.

He shushes her, kissing her slowly, his tongue licking into her mouth, ignoring the way she whines against his lips and bucks her hips.

She throws her head back and lets out a series of breathy cries when he finally lets her fall over the edge. After she's thoroughly and appreciatively kissed him, Felicity puts a hand on his shoulder to coax him onto his back. Wrapping her arms around his chest, she lets the touch of his hand stroking up and down her spine lull her to sleep.

When Felicity wakes up, the bed is empty. Oliver's sitting in the loveseat against the window. He's holding his phone to his ear, and she hears him talking in soft tones.

"Thea, please, take as much time as you need but… I wish you'd said goodbye instead of sending a text. To Tommy, at least. I know my _activities_ are a lot and you need time to adjust, but—" His voice cracks, and Felicity's heart cracks with it. "Please call me. I love you."

"Where's Thea?" she asks.

"Getting on a plane," Oliver tells her. "She… she _left_ me."

Sliding out of bed, Felicity reaches for Oliver's discarded shirt. It's to fight the chill in the room, not Oliver's gaze. "What? When?"

"She sent me a text." He looks at his phone. "About an hour ago."

Felicity pads across the room, so she can sit beside him. "Is she coming back?"

"I don't—" Oliver's voice is quiet, worried. "I don't know."

* * *

 **A/N:** Due to the fact that this fic has had an incredibly nonexistant response here on , this is the last chapter I'll be posting on this platform. If you'd like to keep up with this fic, please subscribe to it on archiveofourown (it's the same title, published by always_a_queen) or tumblr, where I hang out as andyouweremine.


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